


A Gambit in Trust

by Dreyden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e10 The Cricket Game, F/F, F/M, Other, Season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 118,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreyden/pseuds/Dreyden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from season two's "The Cricket Game." What if using magic to see Pongo's memories was just one step too far for Emma? Deciding to go with her instincts rather than magical evidence, Emma confronts Regina without having already condemned the former mayor as guilty. A single leap of faith could alter the course of events forever. Slow burn Swan Queen featuring Snowing and other relationships to come as the story develops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Emma I

**Author's Note:**

> It always bothered me how easily Emma changed her beliefs regarding Regina during "The Cricket Game." After having her life turned upside down and not having a chance to breathe from discovering she had parents, being forced into a world of magic where she was completely out of her depth, and then rescued by the woman she had spent months locked in a battle with; at some point I think Emma would have reached a point of critical mass.
> 
> Watching a dog's memories in a dreamcatcher seemed to be as good a place as any.
> 
> Emma chooses to trust her instincts over what magic seems to tell her, and the world changes.
> 
> Much like magic, all choices come with a price.

Emma Swan had no idea what the hell she was doing.

“You have to _will_ it,” Gold’s words echoed in her ear as the ends of her fingers tingled with the hushed promise of energy ready to burst forth. With no other instruction - and the logical side of her brain just about fried after the past few weeks’ descent into magical, curse-induced insanity – Emma just went with it.

 _Show me_ , her thought was stern, commanding. With a quiet gasp, Emma’s eyes widened as she felt the built up energy _slither_ from her fingers into the dreamcatcher she held. The intertwining threads shined with a golden glow that solidified into a clear image as long seconds ticked past, but the exhilaration performing _actual_ magic created was tempered as her mind caught up to the fact she was watching a _dog’s_ memories played back in a goddamned dreamcatcher.

It was surreal enough that it left her half-sure she would find herself waking up from a strange, strange dream.

“There’s Regina.” Mary Margaret muttered. Emma felt the woman shuffle closer, but her focus was on the image of Regina striding across Archie’s office. Regina’s expression held no anger, or the haughty malevolence Emma was used to. Archie greeted her in surprise, but Regina ignored him, wrapping a hand around the man’s throat without a single moment’s hesitation.

Emma cringed, wanting to turn away as the therapist struggled in the mayor’s grasp, his movements jerky and pointless, but Emma forced herself to watch until the end. As the image of Regina dropped Archie’s lifeless form, Emma let the dreamcatcher slip through her fingers.

Pongo yelped in protest as it bounced off his head, but nobody else made a sound.

Emma let out a haggard breath, eyes wide but unseeing as her mind tried to piece together a plausible chain of events. She had been _sure_ Regina had not lied. The mayor had never managed to get past her well-developed sense for spotting lies and untruths in any of their verbal repartees before. Her discovering of that skill out of nowhere just did not make _sense_.

Nothing seemed to, since fairytales came to life.

She thought that fury should be overwhelming her – enough to drive her to rush and face Regina down for lying to her face and betraying Henry’s fragile trust - but instead she found herself dealing with the overwhelming emergence of agitated frustration alongside a mild nausea. She wished _something_ could remain consistent following the curse. Give her a rock to navigate from…

“Well,” Gold drawled, leaning on his weight onto his cane with his pretentious smirk showing up on his lips. “I suppose that makes it clear.” Mary Margaret let out a low sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose while shaking her head. David’s jaw clenched as he still looked upon the fallen dreamcatcher. His hand wrapped so tight around the pommel of his sword that his knuckles paled to white.

“We’ve given her too many chances,” Mary Margaret’s voice came out low and harsh; sounding halfway between tears and fury.

“You always wanted to see the best in her,” Belle said, laying a gentle hand on Gold’s shoulder. She wore a melancholic little smile as Gold turned gentle eyes on her. “That she chose not to be worthy of your faith is not your fault.”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “No matter whose _fault_ it is, Archie’s paid the price” She closed her eyes and seemed to build herself up. “She has to be _stopped_.”

The sick feeling in Emma’s gut increased tenfold at the finality in the woman’s tone.

Henry’s earnest face when he claimed Regina was trying to be a better person and Regina’s clear surprise and subdued despair at hearing about Archie’s death flashed through her mind alongside _Archie’s_ repeated assurance that Regina was truly trying to be a better person. The last words the therapist had spoken to Emma about his apparent murderer had been so confident.

None of it matched up to the image she had just _fucking_ _conjured out of a dog’s head_. A dull pain throbbed at her temples as her brain worked in overdrive to unravel the tangle of weird shit life had thrown at her in the last few weeks and make some sense out of it.

Pongo whined, laying down across a bemused Gold’s feet, and stared at them with the depth of sadness only animals could achieve.

“You’re right,” David’s soft spoken words held no less conviction than his wife’s. “I’ll go get Leroy to round up the dwarves and get Blue’s help. We’ll have to take her by surprise. Contain her magic.” Emma frowned. The casual way he listed off what he needed spoke to him having needed it before. Mary Margaret gave a sharp nod of agreement and David took a step toward the door. Something in Emma’s mind snapped as David reached for the handle.

“Wait.” The word escaped her mouth strangled and strained, but it stopped David in his tracks as he turned to her in askance. His expression melted toward sympathetic pity, and a quick glance toward Mary Margaret found the same emotion in her eyes. Emma must have looked as shaken as she felt. “I’m not going to let us condemn a woman to death with just _this_ as evidence,” she said with a waving gesture toward Pongo and Gold.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret took a step toward her with her hand outstretched and aimed toward her arm, but Emma took a stop back. Hurt flashed across the schoolteacher’s features, but Emma ignored the brief flare of guilt as it simply added to the tumult of warring emotions swirling in her head. Mary Margaret let out a tiny sigh before saying, “You saw the same thing we did.”

“It’s not what we saw, it’s _how_ we saw it.” Emma held her arms out wide in a vague shrug. “All of this is just…” She trailed off, the word ‘insane’ stood poised on her tongue, but she shook her head. “I just, I just _can’t_.” She urged the two to understand, but the Charming couple stood unmoved, wearing resigned expressions of weariness that did little to improve Emma’s mood.

“As intriguing as watching this little family drama is…” Emma’s head snapped back to Gold, finding the bastard with a bemused grin as he idly scratched Pongo behind the ears. She did her level best to resist the urge to punch the smug off his face. “I would appreciate it if it happened _away_ from my shop. Some of us have more important things to take care of today.” He glanced toward Belle and the librarian’s lips rose into a pleased grin.

Emma frowned. She had barely seen the woman since being back, and could not wrap her head around the relationship she shared with Gold. It was a lesser mystery to be solved later.

“Happy to,” Emma said and wasted no time in striding from the shop. The door slammed behind her, and Emma took a juvenile bit of petulant joy from the act. Once she stood on the street, she realized she did not know what the next best move would be.

Without a plan to speak of, without knowing what she believed about the turn towards insanity her life decided to take in the last few weeks, Emma let her instincts guide her, and found herself powerwalking toward Mifflin Street and the mayoral mansion.

Either Regina had experienced a massive improvement in her skills in deception, or had never truly lied to Emma before. Or there was a deeper scheme at play that Emma could not begin to unravel without more information than it involved someone _else_ with magical powers. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she picked up her pace. She needed the truth, she needed it to make _sense_ , and there was only one person that she could get that from at the moment.

“Emma!” A hand wrapped around her right bicep in a strong and steady grasp, pulling her to a halt and spinning her around. Emma’s free hand was halfway to her holstered weapon before she registered David’s flushed features; his shoulders heaving with labored breaths and eyes full of worry. Had she gotten far enough where had had to run? “What are you doing?”

“Getting to the bottom of this.” She jerked her shoulder out of his grasp and ignored the man’s worried expression. “One way or another.”

David sighed with a small shake of his head. “I know you want to believe in Regina for Henry’s sake, but we’ve been down this road before. Time and time again, Regina proves she is just too far gone.”

“I don’t believe that,” Emma stared him down, unflinching in the face of his conviction. “Isn’t there a hero’s law or something that says nobody is beyond redemption?”

“Hero’s law?” David’s eyebrows quirked as he smiled for the first time that afternoon. “Is that from one of Henry’s books?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Emma muttered, turning away from David’s amused gaze. “All I know is that something here doesn’t _feel_ right.” She added steel to her tone as she attempted to articulate her instincts. “Me using magic? I have no idea how I did…” She waved her hand in the vague direction of Gold’s shop. “ _Whatever_ that was in there.” She turned back to the man to find him looking as if he’d just swallowed something sour. An inexplicable wave of insecurity bloomed within her at the sight.

Wondering how her parents would react to her magic had not even crossed her mind until that moment.

“I don’t have the answers, Emma. I wish I did.” David’s grimace softened into a frown, worry knitting his brow. “But I know what Regina is capable of, and I’m not letting you go there alone.” Emma allowed a tight smile, touched and annoyed at the same time. She was a walking contradiction lately.

“It’s best if I do.” David blinked, taken aback, and opened his mouth to retort, but Emma continued before he could. “If we all swarm her front door, she’s going to get defensive. We don’t want to back her inter a corner.”

“Emma—”

“She won’t do anything to me.” If there was anything she was sure about this day, it was that. “She wants Henry in her life too badly for that.”

“And you think that makes you safe? She killed Archie, what makes you--”

“ _If_ she killed Archie.” Emma corrected with heat in her tone. David held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Then she will still be trying to play innocent. And if she _didn’t,_ then there’s nothing to be worried about.” David ran a hand over his face, looking at her with indecision in his eyes.

“I don’t like this,” he said. Emma could have laughed.

“Yeah, I got that.” David studied her for a moment longer before sighing, turning his gaze skyward, and mouthing either a silent prayer or a string of curses – Emma could not tell which. When his eyes dropped back down to her, he looked resigned.

“Snow’s getting Blue. It won’t take very long to get the dwarves, dust, and fairies together. _Maybe_ twenty minutes. If we don’t hear from you…”

“You’ll come in, fairy dust blazing.” Emma grimaced against both the ludicrousness of the words she spoke as well as the idea of being stuck between the Blue Fairy and what would be a _furious_ Evil Queen. David gave a grim nod, and Emma spun on her heels and ran before he could change his mind and waste more time.

She had a maybe-reformed Evil Queen to interrogate in order to get to the bottom of a murder surrounded on all sides by magic – a concept she could not wrap her head around at the moment let alone be familiar with it – with less than twenty minutes until Mary Margaret and the Blue Fairy would blow the situation straight to hell and it would not _matter_ if Regina was guilty or not.

_No pressure, Swan._

By the time she reached the mayoral manor, her breath came in short bursts and the muscles in her legs made their protest known. She ignored both and pounded her fist against the heavy oak door, without bothering to gather herself. Silence followed her knocking for several dreadful seconds before Emma heard the telltale click-clack of Regina’s heels against the hardwood floor.

The door swing inward and Regina stepped through the threshold, looking as composed as ever in her pricey pantsuit; not a hair out of place. She held a guarded expression on the edge of emotionless, with only the slight lift in her eyebrows giving away her surprise.

“Sheriff Swan,” she said in as neutral a tone as Emma had ever heard from her. “I assume you’re here to apologize?” Emma wrung her hands and found she could not quite meet the mayor’s eyes. Real or not, seeing the image of Regina strangling the life out of Archie was not an image easily put out of her mind, and she doubted opening up with a cringe would go over well.

“Not exactly,” she said. Regina froze for a brief moment before her arms crossed and a frown tugged at her lips. Emma braced herself and pressed forward with no clear plan in her head. “We found a new witness.” Regina’s frown deepened.

“And who else is condemning me today?” Her voice was _almost_ light and uncaring.

Emma grimaced before answering. “Pongo.” Regina blinked, jaw dropping a fraction of an inch before she replied.

“Pongo,” the other woman said, deadpan. “The dalmatian.”

“The dalmatian.” Emma confirmed with a tile of her head. It should have irked her that this entire discussion was ludicrous, but her bullshit meter was spent. “We saw his memories.”

“How?” Regina demanded at once, posture going rigid, defensive. Emma took a moment before replying, unsure how to proceed with any semblance of tact.

“Magic.” Regina let out a breathy, humorless laugh.

“And who performed this magic? Rumplestiltskin?” Regina sneered. “You should know better than to take anything he does at face value.”

Emma tried to hide her grimace, but by the way Regina’s face blanked, she was unsuccessful. “It wasn’t Gold.” She took a breath, bracing herself for a reaction she could not predict. “I cast the spell.”

“You have magic…?” If Regina had been going for stoic, she failed. Her jaw came loose, her eyes went wide, and her head tilted to the side in the way of someone relieved to be figuring out a puzzle. “The _savior_ , of course.” Regina nodded, thoughtful, and Emma could see the gears turning in her head.

She sobered after a moment, her guarded expression returning, and asked. “What did you do?”

Emma shrugged. “There was a dreamcatcher, a bit of light, and a depressed dalmatian.” She half joked, not sure she had a solid enough grasp on what happened to properly describe it. It did not much matter at the moment, anyway. “Long story short, Pongo saw you kill Archie.”

“Dreamcatchers _can_ be used to view memories,” Regina said, annoyance slipping into her tone. Emma assumed she wished that the explanation did not make sense. “But the dog could not have seen me there,” Regina said, eyes downcast and darting back and forth while her eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t really know how I did it.” Emma offered the caveat. “But I know what Pongo saw.” Regina’s head snapped back up to attention and her hands came up in either a placating gesture or in preparation to send Emma flying, Jedi style. Emma made no aggressive move and stared into Regina’s hard, brown eyes with all her unwavering might. If the mayor lied, Emma had to _see_ it this time. “Can you explain this one, your majesty?”

“Forgery,” Regina bit out the word. “A false memory implanted into the beast.”

“How?” Emma frowned, studying the other woman for any hint of aggressive hostility. Every bit of body language coming from Regina screamed defensive and desperate, but Emma could not pinpoint if that was from guilt or fear.

“How else?” Regina smiled, toothy and sardonic. “Magic.”

Emma groaned and pressed her palm to her forehead while squeezing her eyes shut. A quick _throb_ at her temple warned of an oncoming headache. _She_ was _tired_ of going around in circles just because magic had to go and become real.

“And who would think to put memories into a _dog_ and assumed we would check?” She dropped her hand and refocused on the brunette in front of her. “Only you, Gold, and Mother Superior are strong enough to do anything other than parlor tricks, right? And I doubt the nun had a motive.”

Regina looked offended. “She’s been trying to have me killed for decades.” Regina sniffed, disdain clear in her tone. “Never had the courage to try it herself.”

“She wouldn’t kill anyone for it,” Emma said, and Regina let out a quiet snort of disbelief. Emma grit her teeth, trying not to let her aggravation show. “And Gold was with Belle all night.” Emma spoke the lie, taking away Regina’s only plausible deflection

Regina reacted in frustrated anger. “Then what’s _my_ motive?” Regina’s hands balled into fists, her knuckles turning white from the strained grip, her nostrils flared, and the brown of her eyes disappeared against dilated pupils. Emma’s fight or flight response kicked in and she drew herself up to her full height. Instead of lashing out, Regina asked, “What would push me to kill a man when I know doing _anything_ but toeing the line will make me lose my son?”

“Your argument with Archie at the docks,” Emma said, feeling tired. It was the only _not-magic_ evidence they had on Regina. Without figuring out the issue with Pongo’s memories, they were just spinning their wheels at this point. Regina let out a frustrated breath on the edge of a huff.

"If you haven't noticed," Regina said, tone heavy with sarcasm. "Nearly every conversation I have ends in an argument or worse."

"I need more than that if I’m going to help you, Regina." Emma implored, not in the mood to give any ground. That answer had worked yesterday, but it was not enough. Regina clicked her tongue against her teeth, hesitated, but gave in.

"He betrayed my trust." The woman crossed her arms. "He told youabout my sessions when he had no right. I was justifiably angry." Emma raised an eyebrow. " _Not_ angry enough to kill."

"He was just trying to help you," Emma said, feeling the need to defend the late therapist while poking the metaphorical bear.

"By spilling my secrets for the world to hear." Regina's voice was rigid, eyes gaining a glint of anger.

“By confiding in me that you were getting help. That you were _trying_. You should have thanked--”

“It was not his business to share!”  Regina took a step forward, invading Emma’s personal space. For a brief moment, Emma felt nostalgic for the confrontations between Regina and her from before the curse had broken, but she shelved the feeling while the angry mayor lost her composure. Emma tensed, ready to lash out in defense if Regina attacked, but the woman only continued in her heated tone, “So tell me exactly why I should be _thankful_?”

Regina stopped her advance inches from Emma with a steady glare – daring her to come up with a response. Emma was not cowed.

“Because he’s the only reason I haven’t arrested you already.” Regina blinked once, twice, and faltered - taking a step back with a shake of her head.

“It’s ironic,” Regina said. The heat had drained from her, leaving nothing but irritated bitterness. “That I’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding casting even the simplest spell to prove I’ve changed. Yet, it’s _you_ performing magic that’s going to condemns me.” Something joined the intensity in Regina’s eyes that Emma hesitated to call vulnerability. “Tell me Sheriff, how will you explain to my son how you justify using magic to judge me guilty?” Emma’s stomach twisted in a nasty surge of guilt. That was a conversation she truly hoped to never have to have. “Because I would _love_ to see you talk your—“

“Enough,” Emma interrupted. She glanced over her shoulder and felt a renewed sense of urgency. Mary Margaret and Mother Superior were already past due, and Emma _needed_ to make the situation square before they arrived. “I haven’t put you in handcuffs yet, have I?” Regina frowned and stared at her like she was puzzling something out. Emma took a breath to steady herself. “I need you to look me in the eye and tell me the truth.”

Emma narrowed her focus to nothing beyond Regina, urging her instincts to not fail her. Sounding tired and exasperated, Regina said, “I did _not_ kill Archie.” Emma listened for a hint of hesitation in the words and searched for a glimpse of deception in brown of Regina’s eyes as she stared Regina down for long moments after she spoke.

There was none.

Emma let out a ragged breath. Nothing had changed from the previous day; every one of her instincts shouted at her that Regina was telling her truth.

She made the decision to trust them.

“Okay.” Emma breathed out the word before nodding as her mind raced. “Okay,” she repeated, more assured. Regina looked surprised, shoulders sagging just the slightest bit in relief for a single moment before the woman gathered her poise. “Now we just need to figure out how someone's framing you.”

“Obviously through magic,” Regina said with a hint of energy returning to her. “But other than forging the dog’s memories or shape-shifting, I don’t—Miss Swan?”

Emma could have smacked herself. _Shape shifting_.

Her vision glazed over as that one idea snapped the puzzle together and the entire situation began to crystalize in her mind. The Enchanted Forest, a devastated stronghold, mind control, a hand _inside_ her chest, and, most vividly, _Lancelot morphing into another person_. The memories of her week in hell came flooding back and she felt like the world’s biggest fool.

If Emma and Mary Margaret could find a way to cheat a portal to Storybrooke into existence, why couldn’t _she_?

“Miss Swan?” Regina repeated, a slight note of urgency playing at the edge of her tone. Emma snapped out of her own head and refocused on the woman before her, lips set into a grim line.

“Cora,” she said.

Weeks ago, Emma would have marveled at how one word from her could cause Regina to stagger backward as if stricken, her face draining of color. Now the effect only served to fuel her growing sense of dread. That problem was supposed to be _over_. Taken care of, left in another realm to stew in her own failure. Instead, Emma now held no doubt that Regina’s mother managed to follow them to Storybrooke, and had them all running around in circles trying to frame her daughter for murder.

She groaned as the throb in her head turned into a full blown headache.

Magic was _such_ bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did it ever irk anyone else by just how little time passes through season 2 and the beginning of season 3? Seriously, we never stop to take a breath from the curse breaking, to Emma and Snow getting thrown into FTL, to them getting back and the Cora shenanigans, to the Tamara/Greg stuff, and finally to Neverland. I mean, it felt like it couldn't have been more than a couple weeks at most.
> 
> In any case, I've out lined this story a fair bit, and we'll at least get through the Neverland plot, but each chapter will take us further and further from canon, so expect new twists and turns along the way!
> 
> And please leave a review if you have a spare moment! I'd love to hear how well or terribly you think I've captured the characters here. Both Emma and Regina have a bit more nuance to them than characters I'm used to writing, so I'm looking to improve.
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> (Chapter edited and updated 10/28/2015)


	2. Killian I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her initial plan thwarted, Cora must find an alternative route toward her goal. Hook seeks to use the unrest following Archie's 'death' to further his own mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hook's POV, but please don't run to the hills just yet. This is Hook mid-season two, before the shoehorned romance decided to whitewash his character. I feel he provides an interesting perspective on things as a relative outsider.
> 
> (Edited and updated 10/30/2015)

Killian cringed at the sound of wood crashing against wood with a violent thunder. "Sorry, Love," he muttered, reaching out a hand to pat the cabin wall in a soothing apology. He cast his eyes upward to the deck when another roar of destruction –this one glass - sounded. In any other circumstance, Killian would introduce whomever dared harm the _Jolly Roger_ to a realm of pain few could withstand. Getting between Cora and her rage, however, seemed an unwise course.

He sighed and refocused his attention, testing his hook's point with his thumb. A ghost of pressure against the digit drew a droplet of blood. "She _is_ a sight when angered," he said with a note of appreciation. "A perfect storm of destruction. I've seen typhoons less frightening back in our world; haven’t you?" A muffled grunt answered him.

"I would not wish to be Swan when Cora decides to end this charade and truly reveal herself." Killian took a moment to savor the image of the savior brought down to her knees, her spirit broken. _It would be a sweet sight indeed._

More grunts sounded behind him and he dismissed his fantasies for another time.

"But I reckon I can convince the witch to focus her rage on another, _closer_ target in the meantime." Killian turned, deigning to look toward his guest for the first time. Wide blue eyes stared up at Killian with a mix of indignation and fear, his teeth bared over the rag serving as a gag, his face blotchy and almost as red as his thinning hair. He strained against the ropes binding his hands above his head.

Killian plopped down on the bench on the Jiminy Cricket’s right, his arm draping over the bound man's shoulders. His hook came to rest just below the man’s ribs with enough pressure to hint at how deadly the appendage could be. The cricket's breath hitched.

"You see, mate, thanks to Cora's handy little trick with the mirror, I learned something that I don't think she quite realized. Yet." He slid his hook up toward the man’s neck at the pace of running molasses, leaving a tear in the man’s clothes and an angry red line of irritated skin in its wake. "Swan kept going on and _on_ about how you, my dear cricket, continuously came to the queen's defense." Archie's eyes became guarded and he remained silent behind the gag. Killian shrugged.

"So, one might come to the conclusion that all of this," he waved his arm in an all-encompassing gesture. "Is _your_ fault." He put pressure on his hook just below his captive's collarbone, earning a pained grunt as the metal broke through skin. Barely a flesh wound, but enough to get his point across.

"Now, me?" He stood, granting a brief respite to his captive. "I could not give less of a damn about this feud between the queen and savior.” He leaned down so he was on eye level with Archie. “But I'm sure Cora would love to take out her anger on something other than my ship." The shattering of glass sounded and Killian just shook his head.

When this was over, he was never going to deal with those who practiced magic _ever_ again.

"To be frank,” he said, cocking his head in a tilted nod to emphasize his point. “I'd rather she tear _you_ limb from limb than continue hurting the _Jolly Roger._ " Archie went deathly still, gaze intense. Killian resisted a grin, knowing he had won this little war of wills.

"Unless," He reached over and tugged the gag free with his hook. "You can help me with something I truly care about." He kept his eyes locked onto his captive's, who, to his credit, did not so much as flinch.

"And,” the man said, pausing to lick his lips and clear his throat in a gentle cough. “What would that be?" The man's tone was gravelly, low, and cautious.

"I seek to kill my crocodile.” He trailed off, seeing incomprehension in the man’s eyes. “The monster you know as the Dark One." Red brows shot up.

"Rumplestiltskin? How could I help with _anything_ regarding him,” he spoke in disbelief. “Let alone _killing_ him!?"

"Don't get coy, cricket." Killian's almost snarled more than spoke with a renewed sense of impatience. "I've known men like you. You are quiet. You listen. You observe." Killian leaned in until mere inches separated them. “You’ll have a read on everyone in this forsaken town, so do not tell me you know nothing of the imp.”

"He wasn't exactly a regular appointment." The man leaned back, seeming unperturbed. He tilted his head to the left, studying Killian. "You've come a long way for this, haven't you," the man said more than asked. "What happened between you two to give you so much hatred?"

A memory both familiar and hated flashed in his mind and Killian felt Milah’s dying breath against his cheek in an echo of sensation that irritated an ancient wound. He leaned toward his captive, invading his personal space. "I did not come here for your _conscious_ , Jiminy Cricket." His voice was a whisper with the promise of death. "Tell me what you know of Rumplestiltskin or I won't bother to leave you for Cora."

Sweat beaded upon pale skin, but the cricket's voice betrayed nothing but calmness. "I don't know much. He never sought me out under the curse."

"Surely you've seen _something_ in the last decades? Or are you completely useless to me?" The cricket grimaced and remained silent, a hopeless sort of defiance in his eyes. Killian let out a frustrated breath, his patience teetering on the edge.

"I'm sorry," the man began, but Killian was on him, hook pressing under the man's chin. Archie sucked in a surprised gasp through his teeth as his jaw clacked shut. Killian’s frustration prevented him from taking joy at breaking through the man's calm exterior.

"Why do you protect him?” He asked, noting the strain entering his voice. “Do you have any idea of what evil that monster has left in the world?"

The cricket gulped and his voice began to tremble as he spoke, "I know exactly who he was and what he did."

"Then speak to what you know of him in this land." Killian ordered, tone approaching a yell. He let up the pressure on his hook.

"I know he's trying to change." Killian blinked, dumbfounded. Of all the idiotic responses…

"Mate, if you believe the Dark One can change his ways, you're a bigger fool than I give you credit for." Killian shook his head, swallowing the familiar, bitter taste of impotent disappointment.

The balding man swallowed thickly. "This town was brought here by a curse, but it gave us all a gift as well." Killian backed away from the man, not wishing to hear a lecture. "It has offered _everyone_ a second chance to be whatever they want to be. It could be the same for you, if you cared to try." The man spoke with such earnestness that Killian almost felt guilty.

He rushed forward once again and thrust his hook's point into the man's neck just hard enough to draw blood. Archie froze in place, breaths becoming choppy. Killian leaned down to whisper in the man's ear, close enough that he could hear the pounding of his captive's terrified pulse.

"I have had dealings with men of your like before." Killian reminded him. Archie trembled as he spoke, his brave face faltering. "Talking your way through life with your soft demeanor and gilded tongue. But." He leaned around to meet his prisoner's terrified eyes. "I've conned my fair share as well." He pulled his hook away, watching as a trail of crimson ran down ashen skin. "So I ask again, speak to what you know about my crocodile or his dagger, or you will become _intimately_ familiar with his gift to me."

His hook caught the dim light just right, highlighting the contrast between clean steel and the blood staining the tip. Archie took a shuddering breath, and Killian sensed his victory.

"I don’t know anything about any dagger," he said, voice quiet and resigned. Killian could see the truth of that in his eyes and frowned.

"You best know _something_ ," Killian said while thumbing his hook, letting the threat hang in the air unsaid.

"Th-there is…" The cricket's voice faltered and he looked as if he had swallowed something vile. After seconds of deafening silence the man hung his head, eyes closed. "There is someone who will know more. Gold does not confide in anyone but one person."

"Speak to a name and do so quickly."

The answer came ate barely more than a whisper. "Belle…" The familiar rush of hope at a newfound lead flooded Killian's heart even as he recognized the name.

"The Dark One’s pet was cursed as well." She had been of little use to him before, but the situation had changed. “Where will I find her?”

Killian grinned as the man slumped down, supported only by his hands bound to the grate above him. He spoke of a library beneath the clock tower at the center of town that Belle had made her own. The pirate ignored his prisoner's quiet sobs and turned to take his leave.

"I thank you for your aid in this, cricket. I shall see to rewarding you once the Dark One lays dead at my feet."

The man did not deign to reply.

\---

Killian stepped out into the light of day, wincing at the site of refuse and debris littering the _Jolly Roger's_ deck. Cora stood at the bow with the shattered remains of her scrying mirror at her feet. Her face seemed impassive as she had her eyes toward the town with an unfocused gaze. Killian let out a breath of irritation, but suppressed his annoyance as he crossed the deck to stand beside the witch.

He watched as a group of men worked along the docks. Their rituals seemed familiar and foreign all at once. Men hustling about with arms loaded down with cargo was nothing new, but the tools they used were alien to him, and the complete lack of women waiting around to entice land bound sailors threw him some.

And they all seemed to be giving the _Jolly Roger_ a wide berth.

He shook his head. "The cricket knew little about the Dark One’s dagger, but he spoke plain about much else." Cora remained still, her expression unchanging. "What will you do now that your own scheme has been foiled?"

A flash of anger flickered across the witch's features before falling back under a mask of indifference. "All hasn't been lost just yet." None of her rage translated into her voice and she turned to him with a small smirk upon her lips that left Killian ill at ease. "I'll have my own answers from our guest." _Poor sod_ , Killian thought.

"Well, he's already been broken in for you." He reached for his hip flask and took a deep swig, grateful the rum’s burning warmth cut against the evening chill.

"How thoughtful of you." She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed. "Your help has been _invaluable_ to me, Captain." Killian was thrown by the unusual display of gratitude.

"Think nothing of it," he said with a strained, toothy grin before taking another drink and pocketing the flask. "But now I have a crocodile to skin." She nodded and turned to head below deck.

"Do try not to die." She spoke the words as she disappeared below, leaving Killian with nothing but an awkward sense of being out of place on board his own vessel. With a sharp shake of his head he turned his attention to the task at hand, observing the dock workers to try to spot an opening from which he could slip off the _Jolly Roger_ unseen.

The gods seemed to favor him as just as he understood the pattern of the workers' movements, the echoing sound of a stricken bell rang across the town five times. Almost as one, the dock workers _dropped_ what they were doing and all headed in the same direction, solemn demeanors replaced by joking and camaraderie as they joined with another group leaving a building alongside the docks.

"Who's up for the Rabbit Hole tonight?" A portly man called over the rest of the group’s voices. "First round's on Herman boys!" A cheer rose from the gathered men at the expense of one pretesting youth and Killian grinned. At least some things remained the same no matter the realm.

Killian did not waste another moment, slipping down the _Roger_ ' _s_ boarding ramp and away from the docks with quick, quiet steps. He stuck to the alleyways between buildings, avoiding the main roads filled with those roaring metal deathtraps these people used for transportation. Those few he did pass paid him no more than an odd glance, and one sharp look from him sent all scurrying about their way.

The way to the town center was simpler than he feared. The clock tower acted as his guide, growing ever larger as the sun continued it's slow decent across the sky. The tower stood taller than any other building in the town as far as he could see, and, when he had his first clean look at the building, it stood in a prime position along a crossroads.

A crossroads that was alive with people scurrying about to and fro. "Bollocks," he muttered, cursing his luck for choosing to run out at such a moment. He judged he could cross the way in mere moments and, seeing no obvious threats among the townsfolk, decided to risk it and joined the throng of people. None gave him more than a single glance. Just as in his world, people here seemed to rather mind their own business than invite trouble into their lives.

Killian slipped through the double doors standing on the corner below the clock tower, finding a library just as the cricket had claimed there would be. He let the door whisper closed behind him and strained his ears for any sign of activity within, hearing nothing but silence.

"This is far too simple," he said to the room at large, at once relieved and uneasy. He wandered around the stacks, fingers trailing along the spines of books bound by aged leather. Many were old, few were new, but all seemed well taken care of as much as Killian could surmise. Yet nothing stood out to him until he came across a small room almost hidden in a back corner of the library.

It was bare but for a desk covered with a book that lay open, taking up nearly all of the surface. Interest sparked, he spun the book toward him and skimmed through its contents. He sighed in frustration moments later, slamming the book closed with a massive _thunk_. Rather than a book of accounts, it spoke only of nonsense. What even _was_ a library card? And why did this 'Leroy' need his revoked?

This world's customs played his patience toward the edge, and if this was just another—

A bell chimed, cutting through the silence and stopping Killian's internal rant in its tracks. He wasted little time in slipping out of the office and behind a shelf of tomes that stood across from it. He pulled a pair of books off the shelf, leaving just enough of a gap to try to catch a glimpse of his target.

A woman's voice reached him before she came into view. "…were just accusing him of the crime a few hours ago." The voice was accented in an enticing way Killian recognized only from their previous encounter, her words almost lazy and drawled out. "Now you need his help?"

"We may have been … quick to judge," a man's voice answered. Killian rolled his eyes, supposing his luck could not be _that_ perfect. A buxom, auburn haired woman came into view, shaking her head and casting an incredulous look behind her. She was every bit as comely as he recalled. Killian lamented it had been wasted on the Dark One.

When the man entered his line of sight, Killian honed in right one the gleaming metal badge he wore on one hip – the same he had seen on Swan's in Cora's scrying glass - and a sheathed sword on the other. Killian's hand twitched in preparation. "But with the chance that Cora could be in Storybrooke, we need all the help we can get," he said. The man's earnest, boyish features sparked a twisted familiarity in Killian's gut.

He hated hero types.

"Is she in league with Regina?" Belle asked, and Killian suppressed a laugh at the thought. _Oh how Cora wishes_. Her companion grimaced, running a hand through his short blond locks.

"We actually think that Cora may have framed Regina entirely." He trailed off as he spoke and Belle shot the man an incredulous look.

"Going on what proof? We _saw_ Regina kill Archie." Belle stopped to face the man, arms crossed and her big brown eyes shrewd. Killian grinned. There was a fire in this one he had not seen in their last encounter.

The man rubbed the back of his neck, clearly unnerved. "Emma's instincts and Regina's word." Belle laughed a harsh sound that was more disbelief than amusement.

"Rumple had to jump through hoops to convince you he had nothing to do with this, but you take that _woman's,"_ the way she spat out the word sent a chilled tingle down Killian's spine. "Word for it?" She still held a grudge against the Evil Queen it would appear.

The angrier Belle grew, however, the calmer the man became. "Only with Emma's backing, and this matches Cora's M.O." A frown tugged on Belle's lips, eyebrows furrowed in consideration. " _Please_ , Belle."

Belle searched the man's eyes for a long moment before lost her aggressive posture with a shake of her head. "Fine, David, I'll call Rumple." Belle turned and continued on to her office, David close behind wearing a wide smile. "But I can't promise he'll be willing to help."

"I don't think he can refuse you anything," David said with a hint of humor. Killian noticed a smile appear on Belle's face before she turned into the office. His stomach wrung in disgust even as David leaned against the office's doorframe, his back to Killian.

Killian did not hesitate at the opportunity presented to him. He was behind David in three quick strides, arms locking the man into a choke hold before he could so much as turn his head. Killian leaned back, pulling his weight against the man's neck, and kicked out the back of his knees so David could have no leverage. Belle stood, wide eyed and slack jawed, even as David's arms were striking at his. The angle made the blows sting no more than a child's would.

"You're going to want to put that down, love." Killian said with a grin, nodding toward the thin black rectangle the women held. He had no idea what it was, but no point in taking risks. Belle dropped the device without hesitation, hands raising in a placating manner.

"Easy," she said with a small smile that failed to hide her growing panic. Her eyes flicked between his and the man in his hold, a spark of recognition in them. "We don't want any trouble." The man's blows grew weaker with every passing moment.

"I'm afraid what you want is little matter to me."

"What is it _you_ want, then?" Belle kept her composure, eyes now staying on his.

"You," he said with a grin and a flick of his eyebrows. If his declaration surprised her, she didn't show it. She glanced down at David, whose feeble attacks had stopped altogether at this point, and nodded.

"Fine." Killian blinked in surprise. "Just let David go." Bell took slow, deliberate steps toward him with her hands still raised and empty. The man had fallen to complete dead weight, supported only by Killian's hold around the neck.

"A fair proposal," he allowed, grimacing as he held David upright. "Turn around." She did as he asked and faced toward her desk. He would have to find some way of binding her hands…

Killian moved to shift his hold on David, but the moment he did so a sharp elbow drove into his stomach, stealing the air from him. The room filled with the sound of two wheezing men and Killian had not attempted to take two breaths before something heavy _whacked_ against the top of his skull, leaving the rushing boom of thunder in its wake.

His vision blacked out, and the next moment Killian could comprehend found the walls lined with books had turned into the ceiling. He blinked. _When did I get on my back?_ His head pounded and he tried to roll to his side and gain his feet, but a heeled boot pressed its weight onto his chest, holding him in place. His eyes trailed up to see Belle looking down on him, auburn hair haloing her face and a smug grin upon her lips.

Any other circumstance and Killian would have welcomed such a sight with open arms.

He winced as his head throbbed in pain, feeling a sticky wetness on the back of his skull that he suspected _might_ have had something to do with the gigantic ledger the woman had decked him with.

"Bloody hell, woman," he groaned as his wits returned. "Is that any way to treat a gentleman?" Belle let out an unladylike snort and did not see fit to reply. David crossed into his line of sight, rubbing his bruising throat with one hand with his sword held in the other. Gone was the genial charm he had worn with Belle, replaced by a steely anger that turned his features harsh.

Some people were just quick to wrath, Killian supposed.

"Have any rope, Belle?" His voice had been replaced with something akin to gravel, and Killian chose to take that as a small victory.

"Oh, _plenty_." His attention snapped back to Belle, noting the smirk on her face that could have given even Cora pause on a good day. Killian groaned and let his head fall to the floor.

It looked to be a very long night ahead; one most certainly not of the fun variety.

\---

"You know,” Killian said, propping his up against the metal frame of his cell's bed. The mattress was hard and the pillow flat, but Killian could not get over the fact that there was a comfortable place to rest in the first place.

It was a far cry from how he treated _his_ prisoners, not that he could complain. "Staring at me with those baby blues won't compel me to talk, mate." He spared a glance between his crossed feet, finding one of his captors leaning against a steel desk outside the cell, glare still firmly in place. Just as the case was on the way from the library over to this prison, David did not speak.

Killian wondered if the man truly thought the silent treatment would unnerve him.

"They'll be here in a few minutes," Belle's voice drew David's attention away as she stepped next to him. "But I can't get ahold of Rumple. Tried three times." Killian let himself relax at that news. Belle glared at the black rectangle in her hand which he had yet to understand how it acted as a communication device.

"I'm sure he's fine," David placed a hand on Belle's arm and offered a smile. "If there's anyone in town capable of holding their own against Cora's magic, it's Gold."

"Or." Killian interrupted, thrusting himself off the bed and ignoring the rush of lightheadedness that came with it. "He's off making a victim of someone fool enough to strike a deal with him." The fury that lit up Belle's face was tempered only by a hint of anxiousness he caught in her eyes.

Killian smirked. Perhaps the Dark One's lover was not so blind after all? "What's the matter, love, don't trust your dearest Rumplestiltskin? A shame."

David crossed in front of Belle, a tense hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Hold your tongue, _pirate_." The man snapped the word out like a curse. Killian grinned.

"Can't fault a man for being honest," he said with a shrug. He moved forward and rested against his cell's bars. The cold metal did wonders for his pounding skull. "And who even _are_ you, mate? Someone who fancies himself a hero?'”

The man stepped right up to the cage, close enough that Killian could have lashed out with his hook if it would have gained him anything. He wore a grin that Killian longed to wipe off with one solid blow.

"Not a hero, no," he said with a quiet laugh. "Just someone who knows what's good in this world, and what's." He glanced Killian up and down. "Not."

Killian brushed off the brief bout of indignation. He'd been called worse by better men. "Yet you throw in your lot with the likes of the Evil Queen and Rumplestiltskin." _That_ caused David to falter out of his cocksure attitude.

"Rumple has changed, become a better man," Belle said. Killian let out another laugh. Such a ludicrous idea suggested twice in the same day. What was _wrong_ with these people?

"The Dark One does not change." He leveled his best glare at the diminutive beauty. The librarian did not balk. "He has been around for centuries causing nothing but pain and misery to all those who cross his path."

"You have not met him since he's known me." Belle's tone was both confident and dismissive. Killian could not fathom the arrogance of the woman.

"I don't care how skilled you are between the sheets, love. No one woman could change the Dark One." Belle just quirked a brow with a half smirk of someone knowing something other’s did not.

It churned his stomach that it reminded him of Milah in some perverse way.

"As fun as it is to listen to your taunts," David spoke, rubbing at his temples. "Please _shut up_ until the others get here."

"And what is to happen when they arrive? You already know why I've come to this forsaken realm."

"Maybe we should gag him again?" Belle suggested.

"Will you hit me with another bloody book first?"

"Only if you keep talking." They locked gazes for a moment, and Killian could see just how serious she was. _Cheeky lass…_

"It sounds like you're having fun here, too." Killian turned his attention to the end of the room, finding Snow White striding through the passage that led out of the building. She was trailed closely by Swan and the Evil Queen. Killian began to feel like he may have been a tad outnumbered.

"Welcome to the party, ladies." The lot of them ignored him, Snow White going up to David and giving the ponce a chaste kiss before speaking with him in tones too low to hear. It at least that explained who the cocksure man was, Killian mused.

"Has he said anything useful?" The queen asked, arms crossed and glaring at him with one of her disdainful glares. Killian noted the dark circles beginning to form under the woman's eyes alongside the pasty skin. It was a sight far removed from the days an entire kingdom lived in fear of her. Killian judged her the weak link.

"Not in the slightest," David said with an exasperated sigh. "I think he's still delirious from Belle knocking him unconscious." Belle did not respond to the address. She was too busy glaring at the queen with more emotion than she had spared Killian all day.

_Interesting,_ he thought.

"You were defeated by _that?_ " Regina gestured at the librarian without sparing the girl a glance. Belle took a step toward the queen and Killian readied himself for a show.

"Enough," Swan spoke for the first time. Killian frowned, turning his attention to the blonde. As did everyone else, halting their courses. Killian hid his surprise at the role reversal. It seemed Swan would be his key player in all of this. "I'm tired, hungry, and just about out of patience for all this bullshit." She had looked to each member of the party in turn, silencing arguments before they could begin, before settling her gaze on his.

He almost felt entranced by the aura of annoyed determination about her.

"How did you get here, Hook?"

"Magic." He quipped. Swan's face did not so much as twitch.

"Where is Cora?"

"No idea." The queen scoffed and Swan frowned, glancing back at Regina. The older woman rolled her eyes and looked away.

"When did you last see her?" Killian shrugged and yawned. Interrogations were so _boring_ without the promise of bloodshed.

"It has to have been some days now, back in the Forest."

"You're lying," Swan said without hesitation. Killian laughed softly.

"Is that your dreaded superpower?" Swan grinned, but did not rise to the bait. He seemed to be losing his touch lately.

"Why are you protecting her? She almost killed you back in the Enchanted Forest."

Killian raised a brow. "As did you, love, or did you expect me to survive being chained up in an angry giant's lair?" The assembled 'heroes' shot Swan stunned looks and Regina looked mildly impressed, but the savior held up a hand before anyone could speak their questions.

"Call it a preemptive strike."

"Call it whatever you like. Doesn't change the fact that you left me to die. Alone." Swan's jaw tightened, and Killian counted it as a point in his favor.

"This is getting us nowhere," Regina's clipped tone set off Killian's fight or flight instinct, but not before the witch crossed the distance between them. Before he could back away, her left hand had latched onto his hook with an iron grip, keeping him stuck on the bars.

He yanked with all his might, but could not get the leverage to break free. Her right arm reached back in a way that filled Killian's gut with dread even as the Charmings yelped their protests. He held his breath and screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the hand to dig in his chest.

Seconds ticked by and Killian's heart remained in its proper place.

He popped an eye open, finding Regina trembling, her arm caught in the savior's grasp. The blonde was whispering something to the queen that Killian could not make out, and Regina was just shaking her head, eyes closed.

The moment the woman's grasp slackened, Killian bolted away from the bars and tried to catch his breath. His heart thundered in his chest and he was simply grateful that it remained in in his chest.

"You made the right choice, Regina." Swan said, releasing the queen. Regina looked torn between resignation and indignation.

"It would end this idiotic charade and we could have this solved tonight." There was no iron behind Regina's words. It was as if she had spoken just for the sake of it.

"Maybe." Swan allowed with a nod. "But _he_ wouldn't want you to do it like that." Regina gave a sharp nod.

"So what would you suggest we do, Miss Swan?" She gave Killian a withering glance before turning her full attention on the sheriff.

Killian noted that both Charmings seemed shell shocked by the turn of events while Belle was eyeing the two women with the smallest of frowns.

Killian noted the group’s dynamic seemed fledgling. Untested.

"Go about it the old fashioned way." Swan spared him a glance. "But do it _tomorrow_. He's locked up and that means there's one less thing on our plate. Even if he's determined to be a useless pile of leather." Killian scoffed at the description, but was ignored by all. Swan turned to Belle. "And you say Gold will be willing to help?"

"He wouldn't want Cora here any more than the rest of us." Belle had not taken her eyes off the evil queen. "That's _if_ she is really here."

"She is," Swan assured before Regina could rise to the bait.

"Then we'll help, of course."

"Good. I say we call it a night before any of us does something we'll regret. Go get some sleep and we'll regroup in the morning."

"It _has_ been a long day," Snow agreed. David stood behind her and rubbed the length of the woman's arms, an absent-minded gesture affection that once again brought Milah to Killian's mind. He bared his teeth as if to frighten the memories off.

"And who is going to stay with _him_?" Regina asked. Nobody volunteered.

"Nobody," Swan said with a sigh. _Wait, what?_

"What!?" The echo of incredulity matched Killian's own. He studied Swan, trying to figure out her game. The woman just shrugged.

"He's not getting out without help, and the only one that _would_ help him is Cora, who's desperate not to reveal herself, and doesn't know we're onto her." Killian felt a cold dread. Being alone, locked in close quarters, without a witness to act as a deterrent?

He would never pass up an opportunity like that, and he knew the Dark One could not either.

"And if the Dark One decides to pay me a visit?" He asked the room at large, staring down Swan. She met his gaze without flinching.

"Then we'll know who to arrest tomorrow if you're not breathing." Killian's jaw dropped despite himself. She was leaving him to die.

_Again_.

The nerve of her!

Without another word, Swan spun on her heel and strode from the room, not looking back. Regina trailed after her moments later, a contemplative look on her features. He turned his eyes toward the remaining three, willing them to see reason.

It was Snow that took pity on him. "You're sure Gold won't do anything?" She asked, casting a wary glance back at Belle.

"Absolutely," the other woman replied while gathering her things. Snow nodded, apparently satisfied.

"And you _believe_ her?" Killian asked, incredulous, but they ignored him as they too took there leave. He didn't bother to call after them, knowing the battle lost.

The artificial lighting clicked off, leaving Killian alone in a strange land with nothing more than his thoughts and the murky light of dusk for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A freshly edited chapter 2! As I recall, this one was a complete bitch and a half to get down on paper. I toyed with several different points of view, but Hook's was the only one that dipped into all the places that needed to be seen at this point in time. Hopefully you all enjoyed - or at least tolerated - being a guest in his mind.
> 
> Chapter 3 is in the works, and already you can guess some things are heading down different paths. The ripples will only get larger, and next time we'll be on the ride alongside our favorite Evil Queen.


	3. Regina I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina finds herself with a protector she didn't ask for while the specter of her mother's presence looms ever present. An ad hoc investigative team attempts to figure out Cora's plans and short circuit them before they can get off the ground.
> 
> (Edited and updated as of 11/2/2015)

Regina tugged the dark vest taut over her grey button down and ran her hands down its length, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. She took comfort in the thick fabric, its weight granting a sense of comfort and security, even if it could only succeed in stopping the cold. She let out a breath, slow and measured, and kept from checking over her shoulder. The sense of someone watching her ghosted across the back of her neck, but Regina refused to give in to her paranoia.

With eyes locked forward, she left the master suite and moved toward what was doubtlessly going to be a difficult day. Her boots – flats in lieu of her typical heeled flavor – echoed through the house with each deliberate stride, and Regina ignored how empty it made her home seem in the absence of Henry’s pitter-patter across the floors.

“Morning,” a bleary voice greeted her as she stepped into her kitchen. The disheveled form of the town sheriff leaned against the counter, a mug of coffee in her hands. She still wore what she passed for pajamas – a tank top and _ghastly_ multicolored sweats – Snow had delivered the night before, and her hair was a tangled mess.

Not at all ready for the day, which rankled Regina’s nerves. There was too much to _do_.

“Coffee?” The sheriff nodded to a second mug on the countertop with a hesitant smile. Regina shook her head, for some reason unable to draw on her usual ire toward the woman. The coffee was warm and black, which suited Regina just fine.

“Passable,” Regina noted and moved to sit at the kitchen’s island counter. The sheriff plopped down across from her a moment later, expression light.

“Anything go bump in the night?” She asked. “Evil mother under the bed, something hiding in the closet?”

Regina spared the sheriff a bland look and sipped her coffee.

“No sense of humor,” Emma said, groaning as she used the counter top as leverage to stretch her back. Regina’s lip twitched in amusement. The couch in the living room did not make the best place to rest. “Well nothing happened down here either.” The woman stifled a yawn. “Including sleep…”

“If my mother wanted to get to me, I doubt you could stop her.” Regina repeated her argument from the night before. “I do not need a babysitter.”

Emma brushed her off with a shrug. “I laid her out pretty well back in the Enchanted Forest.” Regina blinked at that information, nonplussed. Emma saw her expression and grinned, swinging a fist through the air. “Knocked her right on her ass.” Regina snorted at the image in both amusement and disbelief. “She might actually be afraid of me.”

“Or planning a slow, painful revenge.” Regina offered as a counterpoint.

“Either or,” Emma said so flippantly as she drained her coffee that Regina almost believed her lack of concern. “Besides,” the blonde patted something on the small of her back. “I doubt even magic would stop a bullet.”

Regina frowned at the odd mix of anxiousness, anger, relief, and terror the image of Emma Swan aiming a gun at the Queen of Hearts brought up. “It’s not a theory I’d like to test.”

The sheriff’s false confidence withered away as she sighed. “I’m sorry.” The sheriff pressed her palms against her eyes, rubbing them in small circles. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that magic even exists, let alone that there’s an evil witch in town.” The sheriff was quiet for a moment, thoughtful as she lowered her hands back to the cool granite. “It has to be so surreal to you...”

“It’s not pleasant,” Regina said with a frown. She pushed her coffee away, now put off the taste. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“It might, though.” Emma stared at her for a long moment before speaking in a careful, hesitant tone. “I didn’t believe it then, but Jefferson told me what happened in Wonderland.” Regina grimaced, both annoyed and feeling exposed.

“That was a long time ago.” Regina dismissed. She had chosen to avoid Cora at any cost through the years. Her mother worked non-stop to be an intrinsic part of Regina’s life that even after banishing the woman to another realm Regina could not stop believing that Cora would find a way back.

That her fears were proven right all this time later justified her choices, Regina believed.

“And she’s had a long time to nurse a grudge.” Emma pointed out.

“If it was just about me, she would be much more _direct_ , trust me.” Regina willfully did not think of how that confrontation would likely turn out. “There’s a bigger picture we’re not seeing.”

“Then what would framing you get her?” Emma’s brows furrowed in thought. “Distraction?”

“If so, it would have been aimed more for me than you and the rest of the ‘ _heroes_.’”

“You would have been in jail,” Emma said, matter-of-factly. Regina raised an amused, challenging brow.

“I doubt it, dear.” Emma opened her mouth to retort, appeared to think better of it, and bit off her argument with a snap of her jaw. Regina found herself wishing she wouldn’t have.

“This isn’t really getting us anywhere,” the sheriff said, standing. “Is it?”

“No.” Regina agreed. “The only way we’ll figure out what my mother is after is to find her and.” She hesitated. “ _Contain_ her.” That was an entire problem in itself. Regina was at a complete loss on how to combat her mother without using magic.

“Then I want to take another run at Hook.” Regina nodded and Emma made her way toward the guest restroom.

Regina called after her before she made it out of the kitchen. “And I want to see my son today, Sheriff.” She had tried to make it sound like a command, but Regina heard how her voice lilted at the end. Emma paused in the doorway, and the former queen braced herself for rejection.

The Sheriff surprised her. “I think that’s a good idea.” The blonde cast a half-smile over her shoulder. “You’ve kind of earned it.” The woman turned down the hall without another comment.

A fluttering mix of gratefulness, relief, a tinge of anxiety, and something bordering on happy bubbled in Regina’s heart.

She knew then that she could persevere through the specter of her mother and the unending company of Emma Swan if it meant she could have a chance to spend time with her son.

To truly convince him she could change.

\---

The trip to the Sheriff Station – riding in the Benz as Regina _refused_ to step foot in the sheriff’s yellow deathtrap – passed in a silence that was not entirely companionable, but not tense either. It suited Regina just fine. Emma, on the other hand, was restless the entire drive, fidgeting with anything within her reach.

“I don’t like not driving,” the blonde said with a shrug after Regina shot her a third annoyed glance.

“One might think you had control issues, Ms. Swan.” The sheriff didn't rise to the bait, choosing to stare out the window with her fingers incessantly tapping on the center console. Regina frowned, but decided against further antagonizing the blonde.

When they pulled into the lot, they found an exhausted David leaning most of his weight against the wall by the main doors. He watched Ruby Lucas with weary amusement as the woman paced in front of him. Regina frowned at the werewolf’s presence and mentally prepared herself for a confrontation.

Emma shot out of the car the moment Regina shifted it into park. “Everything alright?” She asked her father while Regina left the safety of her vehicle at a hesitant pace.

“Seems to be.” David reported, pushing off the rough brick wall and stretching each of his limbs in turn. “A couple drunken disorderlies at the Rabbit Hole. Nothing major.” The former shepherd yawned and spared Regina a skeptical look. “No rogue witches going bump in the night.” Regina rolled her eyes, but chose not to waste her wit on the man.

“And Hook?”

“Had no idea I was anywhere close by last night. Started mouthing off about it the moment I walked in this morning.” The two shared a grimace, and the likeness between father and daughter was clear for a brief moment.

“Unsurprising,” Regina said, ignoring the odd pang of irritation the sight caused. “That man's gotten by on nothing more than his ability to talk his way out of situations for decades.”

“Not this time,” Emma said with conviction. She turned to the werewolf, who had been studying the trio with a sharpness behind her eyes that had been absent for nearly thirty years. Combined with the oversized crimson flannel shirt, dark jeans, sturdy boots, and subtle makeup, the woman seemed to have left her cursed persona behind. “What's going on, Ruby?” Emma frowned. “Red?”

“Ruby.” The brunette confirmed with a decisive nod. Regina blinked. _That is interesting_ , she mused. Ruby's lips tugged down into a frown, and she seemed to debate something in her mind before taking a breath and continuing. “Ever since the curse broke, I've been trying to figure out the best thing I could do to help the town, and I know it was only for a day before, but helping you on that case was the most useful I've felt in as long as I can remember, and I really want to give it another try.”

How the werewolf managed to ramble so long on one breath escaped Regina, but Emma’s smile grew with every awkward pause. “With all the crazy shit happening lately, we could definitely use the help.” Ruby smiled wide, teeth gleaming white against the dull grey morning. The blonde turned to Regina, eyebrows raised. “Not exactly sure whose approval we need at the moment.”

A tick of irritation prickled Regina's brow. “I'm not exactly privy to the town's budget at the moment,” she said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“Oh, right.”

Ruby's face fell, but Regina threw the wolf a bone. “But nobody stopped the shepherd from assuming the role, so by all means.” She clapped her leather-gloved hands together. “Feel free to continue practicing nepotism.”

The wolf's upper lip twitched, stopping just short of a sneer, but Emma just rolled her eyes. “I guess figuring out the bureaucracy can wait until we don't have a crisis to deal with.”

“The town's been teetering on the edge for weeks,” Regina said. “It's impossible to know when it will calm down.” She considered for a moment. “ _If_ it will calm down.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ruby's acidic tone should not have been surprising, Regina thought, but it still took the former queen aback after the tame start of the conversation. “Do you realize what living life as two completely _different_ people does to someone?” The wolf took a step toward her, but the sheriff's hand shot out and caught the girl's shoulder before Regina could so much as twitch.

“Take a breath, Rubes.” With a firm hand the sheriff turned the wolf away from Regina, shooting a look that was half searching and half speculating over her shoulder. Regina wondered if the judgment she saw in the sheriff's hazel eyes was real or imagined. “We're all on the same side today.” The blonde spoke as she pulled the wolf into the station. Regina fell in step a half dozen paces behind them, arms crossed. “Now, we've got to figure out your paperwork.”

Regina eyed Ruby's back with a frown as they entered the station proper. The wolf's gait was stiff, her shoulders held rigid. She knew Ruby's reaction, as hostile as it had been, was nowhere near the extreme anger a large portion of the community harbored for their Evil Queen.

The suddenness of the wolf's hostility– combined with it happening when she was being downright _civil_ , thank you very much – left Regina with a stark image of the road that stood between her and redemption. These people did not _want_ to see her as anything other than a tyrant.

She tightened her arms around her middle and focused on the image of Henry grinning his toothy smile at her.

The small comfort she found was shattered as they stepped from the main hall onto the station floor. The unnerving, grating sound of metal against stone overwhelmed her senses and set her teeth on edge. Hook paced along his cell, the metal appendage that gave him his name dug into the walls, scraping along and leaving a trail of dust whenever he took a step.

“Hook, what the hell?” Emma asked above the din, a cringe pinching her features. The racket came to an abrupt stop, and Regina heard the werewolf let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Swan.” Hook's tone was low, dangerous, and full of the promise of deadly intent that Regina would have felt unnerved had the pirate posed any threat whatsoever. With ashen skin, hair mussed with sweat, and the whites of his eyes webbed with crimson, the pirate exuded desperation rather than intimidation.

Which made him no less dangerous, Regina believed, but the sheriff's strategy to make the pirate unravel seemed to be working.

“Glad to see you've spent your time resting...” Emma remarked with a roll of her eyes. She turned from the irate pirate and guided a bemused Ruby to the desk set up outside of interrogation and farthest from the holding cells.

“Do you think this is a game, Swan?” Emma smacked the old CRT monitor on the desk and it blinked to life. “Leaving a man chained at the mercy of giant was one thing, but leaving me defenseless here? Had the Dark One discovered--”

“Then I wouldn't be dealing with this headache you're giving me,” Emma interrupted while clicking through several programs on the computer. “And I would have a convenient excuse to lock Gold up for the foreseeable future.” She stood and gestured from the wolf to the desk. “Fill that out and we can figure out the rest later.”

“If it doesn't die on me,” Ruby said with an uncertain frown. The screen flickered every few seconds.

“Wouldn't be the first thing to kick it in here,” Emma said with a shrug. The expression on the captain's face as he watched the pair of them had Regina swallowing a laugh.

“Bloody wench.” Frustration laced the words. “Calls herself a hero.” Hook laughed, hollow and angry, before turning his attention on Regina when it was clear Emma would not rise to the bait. “And you, Regina? You know exactly what the Dark One is capable of. We need not be enemies here.”

“We’ve been down that road once before, Captain,” Regina said, baring her teeth in a grin that may have bordered on predatory. “Remind me how that went?”

The pirate bared his teeth.

“Well that explains why Cora didn’t bother to bust him out of here,” the sheriff said, shuffling around papers on her own desk. “Less than twelve hours and he already tried to switch sides.”

“Pirates only follow the strongest wind,” Ruby said without looking away from the screen, her fingers racing over the keyboard.

“I did tell you, Miss Swan. My mother didn’t need Hook for her plans, no matter what they are.” Emma hummed in agreement, inclining her head.

“I just know when to back the winning side, loves.” Hook grinned, forced and strained. “Which could be ours if any of you would simply _listen_.”

“Which means that she already used him for what she needs.” Emma did not acknowledge the man in the cage, her head cocked to the side and eyes on Regina. “Ideas?”

“He has precious few skills of note,” Regina supplied.

“So thieving, fighting, prostitutes, sailing, and stalking Gold.” Emma listed off each on a raised finger. Regina smirked at the incredulity on the pirate’s face.

“I never _paid_ —“

“If nothing else, the man has travelled more realms than most.” Regina spoke over the pirate’s objections. He cut off his protest with a strangled growl.

“Ipso facto,” Emma rolled her head back and forth on each word. “She used him to get here, probably by stealing something capable of crossing realms.”

 

“Another portal?” Ruby asked, hitting the return key with an air of finality. She spun around in her chair. “I thought you and Snow basically had to cheat pretty much every rule of magic to get here.”

“The how doesn’t matter anymore,” Regina noted, ignoring the glare Ruby sent her way. “We need to focus on the why.”

“Does she want Gold dead?” Emma suggested.

“She was his student too, once upon a time. She would know better than to try and use Hook for the task.”

“Not like she had a lot of options.” Emma noted, and Regina conceded the point with a nod.

“But she wouldn’t ever count on him being successful. She has a bigger plan.”

“Which apparently doesn’t include rescuing her lackeys.” Emma tossed a droll look toward the pirate. “Tough luck, Hook.”

“I’m nobody’s ‘lackey,’ Swan.” Hook let out an impatient grunt, hand gripping the bars to his cell. Regina laughed, short and sharp.

“Remind me how long you spent in Neverland again?” Hook’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, but he bit back whatever weak retort he had in mind.

“Neverland is real? Of _course_ Neverland is real.” Emma shook her head, and Regina could almost see the woman willfully push that information out of mind.

“How did he survive?” Ruby asked in an almost whisper, shuddering. Her expression changed from contempt to speculative while looking at their prisoner.

“Back to the point,” Regina said rather than answer. “Hook would be nothing more than a distraction to Rumplestiltskin.” Regina considered for a moment. “A short one at that.”

Hook slammed his good hand against the bars, the smacking sound reverberating through the station. Ruby jumped in her seat, Emma’s head snapped around, and Regina felt the tendrils of will begin to form with her hand half raised to build a fireball. She took a shuddering breath and forced the beginnings of magic to disperse.

She tried to not enjoy the rush that came with calling her power with ease.

Hook’s eyes were wide, his lips pulled into a sneer. “One day the Dark One is going to lay dead at my feet.” He looked to each of them in turn. “And know. _Know_. I will remember you.” He scraped his hook against the metal bars, the sound grating on Regina’s ears. “And as Rumplestiltskin will soon learn, there is no realm I cannot find and no sea that I cannot sail.” A realization sparked in Regina’s mind. “And you will each regret that you stood in my path this day.”

“Finally something useful comes out of your mouth, Captain.” Regina gave Hook a brilliant smile. The pirate lost his swagger, a confused brow raised while the others looked at her with incredulity lined in their expressions.

“What could possibly—?” Ruby started to say, but Hook disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke brought her to a dumbfounded stop.

Regina’s blood ran cold. _She’s close_. The thought ran through her head, and the suddenness of how vulnerable she felt sent a rippling chill down her spine.

“What the hell?” Emma stared at the empty cell, jaw agape.

“Regina?” Ruby eyed her warily, every muscle tense.

“That wasn’t me,” she said, too distracted to be annoyed. “ _She_ has to be nearby.”

Emma sprinted off with a curse the moment the words left Regina’s tongue. Ruby scrambled to follow, and Regina had to force herself to willfully walk a path that led to her mother.

 _She has no power over you_ , Regina reminded herself as she broke into a jog. She felt the swirling torrent of energy building at her turbulent emotions, and only a strong focus on her promise to Henry kept her from having fire dancing in her hands.

She let the power remain a whisper on the edge of her senses, ready to be called if absolutely necessary.

“Damn it. Damn it. _Damn it!_ ” Emma’s shouts brought Regina’s thoughts to a narrow focus. She pushed through the door to find the savior spinning in a swift circle, gun drawn but aimed toward the ground. The blonde continued a stream of curses as her head turned to and fro, seeking their enemy.

“They’re not here, Emma.” Ruby’s words held a sense of absolute surety. The werewolf had her eyes closed, her nose turned in the direction of wafting breeze. “They were…but I think they teleported again.” Emma stared hard at Ruby for a brief moment before she clicked the safety of her gun back on and stuffed it into her belt holster.

The sheriff rounded on Regina, hair flyway, a stream of golden waves flowing with each of the woman’s powerful strides. “What was that? How can she just _do_ that?” She waved toward the station, eyes wide in frustrated anger.

“There are no magical defenses around the station.” Regina stood calm on the brunt of the sheriff’s aggression. “If she knew where he was, it wouldn’t be difficult.”

“Can she do that to anyone?” Emma ran a hand through her hair. “Could she do that to you? To _Henry_?” A flutter of fear shuddered Regina’s heart.

“No,” she said with finality trying to think of how to explain the logics behind magic to a layman. “Teleportation with a person requires a sort of… consent. Especially if you aren’t right next to the person. They would feel the energy and be able to resist it.” Emma let out an audible sigh of relief. “Hook must have been ready for it.”

“Still, we need to get anti-magic crap set up.” Emma looked toward her station with a frown, lines creasing the corners of her lips. Regina crossed her arms.

“The fairies would be able to get something together. They’ve got the dust now, right?” Ruby asked.

“Yeah, or we convince the kid that Regina can use magic without going Voldemort on us.” Ruby eyed Regina with something ten degrees off contempt. Regina raised a brow in challenge even as she doubted that possibility herself.

“Right,” the wolf said rather than arguing, disbelief transparent in her tone. Emma shot her new deputy a frustrated glance but said nothing to her.

“Before Hook was _teleported_ away.” Emma closed her eyes and shook her head, muttering something Regina could not make out. She recovered from whatever episode she experienced and looked to Regina. “You figured something out.”

“Possibly. Hook reminded me of an obvious fact: He’s a sailor.” She received two blank looks. “And he neverleaves the _Jolly Roger_ where he cannot get to it.” Realization sparked in the other women’s eyes.

“The docks,” Emma said, already heading toward her squad car.

“It’s assuredly hidden by magic.” Regina said, falling in step with the sheriff. Ruby trailed after them, and Regina felt the wolf’s eyes on the back of her neck. She brushed off her annoyance.

“I’ll be able to find it,” Ruby said with confidence.

“Then we’ll need a fairy, I guess.” Emma pulled open the driver side door, paused long enough to glance at Regina, before shaking her head and addressing her deputy. “Ruby, get Mother Superior on the line. Get someone to meet us there.”

“On it.” The wolf pulled out a smartphone – black but covered in red sequins – and the trio piled into the car.

It was an old thing, a relic from the eighties that the curse’s magic had never bothered to update, but Emma coaxed the machine to life, and they left a trail of flying gravel behind them as the sirens blared.

\---

“I don’t like this.” Regina hugged her arms around her middle. The thick fabric of her clothing did little to blunt the chill coming off the ocean at the early morning hour.

Storybrooke’s port stretched along only a small portion of the town’s shoreline. With only a half dozen modest-sized docks, the town could never become a nexus of shipping and trade., but the curse added the small town to many befuddled traders’ routes, where the local fisherman turned the plentiful bounty of Storybrooke’s waters to profit.

Thirty years of habit had kept the outsider sailors coming even after the curse broke, but most of the townsfolk did not dare to sail too far out into the cold Maine waters in fair of crossing the town line. Regina could not blame them and could not guess where at sea the magical border lay.

Though the habit several of the men had picked up in customizing their ships had become something of a worry. One man who owned a small dingy had added a _harpoon gun_ to the rear of his vessel. What purpose that could possibly have in Maine escaped Regina.

The same people that should have been out to sea were now giving her and her odd trio of companions a wide berth. The looks they received held more curiosity than fear or anger, and Regina chalked that up to the woman with her eyes closed, face scrunched up, and nose turned into the chilling wind.

Their would-be-guide had stood like that for several long minutes, trying to pick out their targets’ scents among the cacophony of smells the wharf no doubt provided.

“I’m not exactly thrilled right now, either.” The sheriff bounced on her toes, head on a swivel. One gloved hand rested on her holstered weapon while the other was balled in a fist.

“You’re both kind of giving off a bunch of bad energy,” the newest addition to their party said with a smile on the edge of a grimace. The dull navy blue robes and habit were a far cry from the color coded wardrobe the fairies had worn back in their home realm, making it harder for Regina to differentiate among them.

Though with this one’s bumbling nature and appealing, angular features, Regina did not need the girl’s pink ribbon bracelet to clue her in on her identity.

Regina supposed it should not have surprised her that Blue would have sent the worst of her followers to help them.

“Risk of the job.” Emma noted absentmindedly. The fairy turned nun wrung her gloved hands but did not reply. The sheriff glanced Regina’s way. “I can’t figure out why she waited.”

“It can be a coincidence.” Regina did not believe it, but felt the need to offer the suggestion. Emma hummed her acknowledgement with the same doubt.

“Got it,” The werewolf said with a victorious smile. Ruby didn’t wait of them to acknowledge her before she set off on a brisk pace toward the southernmost pier. Emma drew her weapon as they followed and Regina took a steadying breath.

They were a dozen feet from the dock when an odd feeling of dread swept through Regina, causing her to come up short. An urge to be _anywhere_ else other than here dominated her senses, and on either side of her, her companions back-stepped away from their goal. She let out a shuddering breath and realized her feet were bringing her backward too. It seemed like sure a good idea to leave this place and _never_ return…

She forced herself to stop, focusing her attention on an energy just off the edge of her perception. The familiar tinge of her mother’s magic clarified, and for a moment Regina was a teenager caught in the woman’s unrelenting magical grasp once again.

“Stop.” The word came out a strangled order, a worrying mix of fear and authority behind them, and Regina could not be sure it had been addressed to her compatriots, who halted at the word, or herself. She shook her head, focused on the energy and identified it as an illusion in her mind, and forced herself to look past it. “It’s a ward. Focus on the task. Remember why we’re here.”

One by one the other women’s eyes cleared – Emma’s first, the fairy’s last – and each held a disconcerted look.

“I am entirely _done_ with this whole thing.” Emma pressed a palm to her forehead and trudged forward. Regina let out a hollow laugh. The blonde had no idea.

“They’ve both been here, and recently.” Ruby declared with a nod, thumbing her nose. The dock before them appeared empty, but now that Regina identified the ward, she could feel her mother’s magical presence permeated the air around them.

“Astrid, can you—“

“Nova,” the fairy interrupted the sheriff, more bold and confident than Regina had ever heard her. “My name is Nova.”

“Right, sorry,” Emma said with a brief shake of her head. “Can you, I don’t know, sense anything?”

Nova’s valor melted away, but she nodded. The fairy toyed with a pouch tied at her waist and produced a modest sum of glimmering dust. Regina stopped herself from sneering at the crude medium, pocketing any would-be comment for later.

“Okay,” Nova said, her eyes closed as she stepped toward the edge of the waterfront, and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She mumbled under her breath and the dust in her palm became luminescent with the pink energy of Nova’s magic. The fairy blew a gentle breath at the dust, guiding it out over the water.

“Cute,” Ruby noted with a wry grin while the pink mist spread itself into a large dome, glowing as it pressed itself against an invisible barrier. Nova blushed as Emma laughed softly, but Regina only shook her head.

“Release!” The fairy cried out, slamming her outstretched hand into a fist. With a grating sound that was one part crushed metal and one part shattering glass, the fairy dust cracked through her mother’s ward, and the illusion melted away

Leaving a frigate straight out of the eighteenth century visible, bobbing in the water’s gentle current.

The echoing feeling of dread dancing on the edge of her senses faded away, and from the way her fellows’ shoulders relaxed, she was not alone in that. The fairy took it one step beyond, laughing and clapping her hands together while turning to them with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Good work Nova,” Ruby told the woman with an encouraging, if bemused, grin. The wolf stepped toward the ship, her nostrils flaring. Nova trailed after her, babbling about the success of her spell, her steps bouncing with a newfound confident. Regina resisted the urge to comment.

“No skull and crossbones,” Emma said. “Disappointing.” Regina shot the blonde an incredulous look, but the sheriff answered only with her typical playful grin. Regina rolled her eyes and stepped along the pier toward the _Jolly Roger_ , senses attuned for any residual magic.

“I don’t think they’re here.” The wolf had already boarded the ship and was looking around the deck with a deep frown.

“Can’t smell them?” Emma asked as she strode up the gangplank. Regina wondered how the sheriff seemed so at ease with the wolf’s abilities with her developing dislike of anything magical, but filed the contradiction away to figure out at a better time.

Ruby scrunched up her nose. “This whole place _reeks_ of Hook, but…” She gestured her arms at the entire ship.

“Oh,” was all Regina could say as she followed the sheriff on bard and saw the aftermath of Cora’s handiwork. Everything that had not been secured to the deck had been smashed to pieces. Wood, metal, glass, rope. It was all scattered along the deck with no semblance of rhyme or reason.

“Hurricane Cora?” Emma ventured to guess. Regina nodded.

“Oh my,” Nova’s tone shifted from cheerful to strained. The woman shuffled her feet and glanced around, as if Regina’s mother would appear from the shadows at any moment.

Which, Regina reasoned, may not have been improbable.

“Okay,” Emma said, refocusing the group’s attention. “Split up and search for anything useful, but be careful. If anything looks like it belongs in Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings…” She trailed off with a strained shake of her head. “Just don’t touch it.”

The quartet split into different directions, and Regina – ignoring the various piles of refuse – headed for the stairs leading below deck. Even at her worst moments, Regina knew her mother would never destroy anything of true value. The woman excelled at knowing just how to push things to the breaking point and stopping just before going over the edge.

If there was something to find, it would have been left untouched.

Wood creaked beneath her feet as she descended the ancient, well-worn stairs. The _Jolly Roger_ had a certain kind of magic engrained into it. Decades upon centuries under the employ of Captain Hook had seen the vessel travel over countless oceans and realms, many of which must have been as magically-rich as the Enchanted Forest and Neverland.

Combined with being the only thing – besides his quest for vengeance – Hook gave a damn about in all the realms in the universe, and it left an impression that was as much a part of the ship as the wood that shaped it.

There was no power to it, really. Unnoticeable off the ship or above deck, the thrum of energy only tickled the edges of Regina’s magical awareness the further into the ship’s depths she went. It was the type of magic she knew would be common in ancestral homes back in the Enchanted forest. Built up generation after generation of the same family populating its halls. To have the same type of magic exist where but one man called the ship home spoke volumes to how much the captain valued the _Jolly Roger_.

And in this land where magic was a queer and unnatural occurrence, even this little pocket of energy could act as a perfect catalyst for complicated spellcraft, Regina mused.

So focused on isolating the heart of the modest power as she navigated the thin halls with her eyes closed, Regina almost missed the muffled sound of a man sobbing. Her heart skipped a beat in surprise and she found herself in an alcove toward the rear of the ship, a heavy oaken door on either side of her.

The distressed sound came again – from her left – and Regina tried the door. It was unlocked, but its weight forced her to use most of her bodyweight as leverage to get it to push inward. She grunted with the effort, but managed to get inside what amounted to a makeshift brig.

“Archie!” Regina schooled the shock from her features out of habit rather than conscious effort. The psychologist’s head snapped in her direction, and he could not hide the flinch at the site of her. Regina did her best not to take it personal, but there was a brief echo of hurt that flitted through her mind before she snuffed it out.

He was in a poor state. His arms strained against ropes stained red where the rough material had chafed through the man’s skin. They kept his wrists bound above his head, straining his shoulder joints at an unnatural angle. His thinning hair was wild and flyaway, his blue eyes puffy and rimmed in red. The trails of dried blood running down both his forehead and throat twisted something close to pity in Regina’s stomach.

She went to him, nimble fingers working against the knots that kept him bound. As she did so, the man relaxed, slumping in relief.

“Regina.” She did not remember the last time she had heard her name spoken with such a sense of relief. “It’s actually you.”

“Yes.” She kept the odd emotions that having her appearance _not_ being reviled brought up at bay. She managed to get one wrist free and the man immediately cradled it against his chest. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” she said, feeling that _something_ needed to fill the silence.

The man laughed, wet, wry, and weary. “Me too.” A fresh melancholy fell over him moments later even as Regina freed his second hand and helped get him to his feet. “Please tell me Belle is okay?” The therapist kept his gaze firmly on the wood beneath their feet.

Realization dawned on Regina at the seemingly random question, and brought with it a sense of sympathetic understanding. “She’s fine. She actually managed to capture Hook.” The man looked doubly relieved.

“Good.” He nodded. “That’s good.” They left the small room behind, and Regina made to retrace her steps back to the deck, but Archie paused outside the remaining door. At her curious glance, he explained. “After Hook… left.” A hand reached up to throat and rubbed it gingerly. “I heard your mother outside my door. It sounded as if she was speaking with someone.”

“You think there’s another prisoner?” Regina refocused her senses and once again found the trickling ebb of energy that was the _Jolly Roger’s_ magical presence. It was stronger here than anywhere else she had been on board.

“There’s _something_.” He said with a shrug.

Frowning, she crossed to the door in two quick strides. Placing her palm flat against the warm word revealed not a hint of what lay beyond. “Stand back,” she told the man. Once again she found herself pushing the majority of her bodyweight against a door more stubborn than the worst of the beasts she had ridden in her lifetime.

When the old hinges gave way, she did not expect to find a rotund man kneeling in the middle of a bare chamber. Unlike Archie, this man was not bound, but rather appeared to be waking from a light slumber. He yawned, eyes bleary with sleep, and Regina marveled at the difference in how the two prisoners were treated. Where Archie had been completely disheveled, this man was dressed in fine robes in the style popular back in the Enchanted Forest. His long, dark and curly hair was held back in a neat ponytail, and a comfortable growth of beard sprouted from his neck and chin.

He seemed perfectly content until he caught site of Regina. “You!” He shouted, his voice reverberating with an unexpected power. Regina did not recognize him, but she had learned that that did not preclude her from being on the receiving end of righteous rage.

No stranger to being the brunt of such emotions, she kept her calm. “Who are you?” Regina asked, backing away as the man made a clumsy attempt to gain his feet.

“You know who I am! You murdered my family in cold blood!” The man stood on shaky legs and Regina’s eyes widened when she locked eyes with the stranger. A tinge of glowing, purple energy pulsed at the edge of the whites of his eyes like a fire in the night.

Whatever the man was seeing, it was _not_ Regina.

“Over beans!” The man bellowed a raging scream, and Regina bolted. Pushing Archie ahead of her, Regina broke out into a run toward the upper deck. The thunderous, lumbering footfalls behind her made for a wonderful motivator to keep moving.

They burst above deck without managing to be caught by the rage-blinded man, and the three surprised exclamations of “Archie!?” were cut off as Regina shouted at them to get off the ship. None of the three followed her suggestion by the time the man appeared at the top of the stairs, chest heaving with heavy breaths.

“Anton?” Emma’s startled statement of recognition brought Regina up short, but Anton did not seem to hear her.

“How is this possible? How are there five of you?” The man pressed chubby fingers into his eyes, rubbing them with an aggravated vigor. “The witch warned me you would pull a stunt like this, but she made sure I was ready!” He reached into his robes, and Regina could feel the sudden release of magic.

From Nova’s gasp somewhere behind her, the fairy could too.

It was only when Anton started growing to ridiculous proportions that Regina truly understood the depth of her mother’s trap, and her blood ran cold.

Cora had brought a giant to Storybrooke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you enjoy the chapter? Regina is the most complex character on Once, and trying to get in her mindset at this point in time proved a bit difficult. I feel like she would have been teetering on the edge of rigid control and going entirely 'fuck it all' as long as her mother was in the picture like this. Adds a bit of underlying tension constantly running through her head that's never really acknowledged.
> 
> I hope it was entertaining at the least!
> 
> Next time we will be returning to our Savior's noggin, and I can guarantee she has not warmed up to magic in the slightest. Considering the fight that's coming up:
> 
> In one corner: An evil queen who refuses to use magic, a nun-fairy who is at best a novice, a werewolf who can't wolf out on demand, a savior that's more at home chasing petty criminals than doing anything else, and an injured pacifist who offers exactly as much help in a fight in human form as he would have if he was still a cricket.
> 
> In the other: A rampaging giant who's convinced he sees his worst enemy wherever he looks.
> 
> Should be good.


	4. Emma II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An enraged Anton grows to gigantic proportions and tries to kill our intrepid team of investigators, driven by dark magic casting illusions and enhancing his negative emotions.
> 
> (Edited and updated as of 11/3/2015)

Emma learned many harsh and difficult lessons during her time as a bail bondsperson. Among the most terrifying was the grim fact that there were few things in the world as dangerous as a drug addict lost in a raging stupor. When someone came at you with vicious intent and they could not be reasoned with? You either had to get _gone_ , or put them down.

Anton’s jerky movements, unfocused, jittery eyes, and exclamations damning a person named James who was _not_ there all set off Emma’s warning bells. The man rapidly growing into the gargantuan proportions beyond his natural form turned them into a claxon.

“Move!” She grabbed the closest people to her – Nova née Sister Astrid and Archie – and draggedthem toward the side of the deck, grunting in the effort. The wood groaned in protest of its new load and began to crack under the giant’s weight behind them. Without having a chance to even check over her shoulder, she leapt over the edge of the ship, pulling the two along with her in a flailing tangle of limbs and shouts.

The harbor’s frigid, murky water became her entire world for a heartbeat before she orientated herself and swam upward and toward the dock, hoping Nova and Archie were doing the same. With a gasping breath, she broke the surface just in time to see Anton – now five times taller than he had any right to be – snap the _Jolly Roger’s_ main mast in half.

Any schadenfreude joy she felt at the damage to the pirate’s precious ship was tempered at the sight of Regina and Ruby sprinting off the boat and away from the falling debris toward the port proper. The rest of the pier seemed to have been abandoned and Emma hoped those who had ran would seek help.

“I-I-I need t-to get the other f-fairies.” Nova’s teeth chattered together as she spoke. Emma glanced over her shoulder and found the woman gliding through the water with a grace she had not expected. Archie trailed behind her, wading through the current on clumsy strokes. His pallor worried Emma, and she wondered how much more the man could handle without getting rest. She redoubled her effort into swimming for dry land as swiftly as she could manage. The trio reached the edge of the pier within a minute and Emma hoisted herself out of the water with a soft grunt.

She offered a hand to help the other woman out of the water, and Nova took it with a grateful, quivering smile. “Do you have any dust left?” Emma asked, reaching back down to help the therapist out of the water, earning a soft spoken thanks from the man. The fairy shook her head, rubbing her arms for warmth.

“Used m-most of it, and, well…” She reached into the pouch on her hip, bringing out a tiny, soaked clump of dust. “I don’t think it really works when wet?”

“Always something,” Archie said, somewhere between joking and distraught.

Emma bit back a curse and the urge to throw a tantrum in frustration. “Go for help,” she ordered instead. “Get Mother Superior and whoever else can actually do _something_ about this.” She looked back to the giant, who balanced one foot on the _Roger_ and the other on the dock. He looked around their surroundings with straight confusion on his face. “I’ll figure out some way to distract him, keep him from town.” Nova nodded and was off like a shot, sprinting as fast as her legs could take her toward her car.

“Be careful Emma,” Archie implored, concern in his kind eyes. She nodded, and Archie raced after Nova.

_Okay_ , Emma thought, turning in the opposite direction toward the giant. _No time for kid gloves._ She caught up to Regina and Ruby on the edge of the pier. Her newly reinstated deputy had her phone pressed against her ear while Regina stared at her hand, which she held in a strained fist. Emma frowned at that.

“—damned _giant_ at the docks. Yes I’m serious, we need to get some help down here—” Emma tuned the woman out, assuming she was speaking with either Mary Margaret or David, and addressed Regina.

“I think the kid’ll understand using magic.” She kept one eye on Anton, who now tried to yank his foot free of the frigate. The wood groaned, squeaked, and cracked with every movement. “Kind of an emergency here.”

Regina blinked, dropping her fist. “Only if absolutely necessary, Miss Swan.” Emma grimaced at the return to formality. Regina stood, clearly torn, and Emma decided not to poke the bear. Even if nothing would make her happier at that moment than having a magical powerhouse at her back.

“Yeah, well, any suggestions on how to stop a giant from destroying everything in his path?” Regina let out a heavy breath through her nose.

“Working on it.”

With a grunt of effort that roared like thunder, Anton broke his foot free of the deck. Wood flew in every direction and the _Jolly Roger_ lilted from side to side as it drifted away from the dock toward the open ocean. Anton grabbed the broken mast as he did so, hoisting it up to wield it as if it were a club.

Emma brought her gun up and slid her finger along the slide. “Anton!” She shouted up to the man. He turned his unfocused, violet-glowing eyes onto her, and his lips twisted into a snarl. She forced herself to forget he was a friend. “You need to calm down!” The giant took a step, a guttural sound releasing from his throat that shook the ground. She did not hesitate.

Emma pulled the trigger.

Three disheartening clicks later, and no bullets riddled the giant’s leg. Emma stared at her gun with betrayal in her heart. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.

“Run!” Regina commanded them and a firm hand gripped Emma shoulder and pushed her along.

“We need to keep him away from the town,” Ruby said, needlessly. She held back from going full out to keep pace with them. Emma ejected her gun’s drenched clip, catching it with her off hand, and cleared the barrel.

“Open to suggestions,” she said, trying to ignore the earth shaking beneath her boots. She reached to her back pocket for her backup clip, but found nothing there. “You have to be _fucking_ kidding me.” She amended her earlier declaration, realizing they had rushed after Cora before she’d even geared up.

She was the worst cop in the world.

She stuffed the useless clip into her pocket and holstered her gun, ignoring the queer looks she received from her companions in giant baiting and wracking her brain for an alternate plan. “Think he’ll follow us into the water?”

“If he doesn’t, nobody’s going to be there to stop him marching straight to downtown,” Regina answered, her breath coming in quick puffs. A chilling brush of breeze accompanied with a flickering shadow urged Emma too glance behind her in time to see Anton reaching the mast-turned-club back for a swing.

“Move!” She slammed her arms out to either side, shoving each woman tumbling away. Emma dove forward, leaning her shoulder into a roll.

Wood thundered against asphalt, and the pavement gave first. Spider web cracks burst from the point of impact like lightning in the sky, reaching all the way to where Emma crouched a handful of yards away. She gulped, and instinctive fearful reaction to the sudden reality of how this situation was probably going to end.

Anton growled a booming cry of frustration and raised the pillar of death again, this time aiming at the closest person to him – Regina.

Emma moved without thinking. “Hey, Jackass!” She made a beeline for the gap between the giant’s legs, drawing a pocket knife from her belt as she did so, grateful for her addiction to cop procedurals (rule nine, always carry a knife). “Aim for the actual threat!” Anton paused just long enough in consideration for Emma to get between his legs and lunge the knife straight for the meat of his left calf.

The knife freaking _bent_ and her grip slipped, slicing through her gloves and digging into flesh. She hissed in pain and threw the useless weapon to the side, clenching her fingers into a tight fist as fresh crimson bloomed between them.

“James!” Anton bellowed, and a hand half the size of Emma shot at her faster than she could dodge. The blow hit her across the entire length of her body, sending her tumbling through the air in a moment of jarring weightlessness only to have it cut short as she became well acquainted with the concrete ground.

Emma groaned and tasted blood. She hoped it meant she had only bitten her tongue rather than a sign she was bleeding internally, but judging from the fact that her entire left arm already felt like it was going to be a gigantic bruise, Emma did not hold out much hope. The shaking ground drew her back to the present and urged her to move again or else be crushed underfoot.

Emma rolled to her knees in time to see Anton’s murderous eyes fixed only on her. “You’ve got to remember, Anton!” She tried the reasoning route once more, her words holding a newfound lisp. Emma filed away the annoyance that brought for later. “I’m not James! Remember the Enchanted Forest? Hook? It’s Emma Swan!”

The giant did not even blink as he brought the ship’s mast down for another blow. Emma lunged into another roll, unable to hold back the pained cry at using her strained side to absorb the impact.

“No more tricks, bastard! Only a coward uses deception as a weapon.” Anton lunged out a kick, and Emma gained her feet and dodged once more, her breathing labored. She scrapped any idea involving wearing down the giant.

“Says the thirty-foot-tall magical monster from another frickin’ realm!”

“How dare _you_ call me a monster!?” Anton tried to _stomp_ on her, an extra burst of quickness in his motions. Emma scrambled backward.

_Antagonize the thing trying to kill you, Emma. Damn brilliant_. She scolded herself and urged her brain trying to produce something resembling a plan.

“Hey, Asshole!” Ruby’s sudden shout diverted Anton’s attention to something behind Emma. A whistling pierced the air a moment later, and Emma looked up in time to see a _harpoon_ jet past over her head and embed itself into the meaty part of Anton’s shoulder. The giant howled in pain and rage, dropping the mast to the ground with a deafening _thunk_.

Emma risked a glance behind her to see Ruby at the helm of a tiny fisherman’s boat no bigger than ten feet, with _Regina_ standing at the aft of the ship at a mounted harpoon gun, feet planted at shoulder-width and back rigid straight. The predator’s smirk she wore stirred something primal in Emma.

“Floor it, Miss Lucas!” The order rolled off the former mayor’s tongue, natural as breathing. Ruby gunned the boat zero to full throttle, and Anton’s wails doubled in intensity as the nylon rope strained between the harpoon and the boat. The giant took a step forward to keep balance, and grabbed the rope with both chubby hands.

Emma’s eyes widened and she ran to the side just as Anton pulled on the rope with all his might. The grating sound of shearing metal reached her ears, and she chanced a look back to see the harpoon gun sailing through the air toward the giant and the fisherman’s boat spinning out into the harbor.

The gun arced through the air and thunked against Anton’s sternum, knocking the giant off-balance enough to put him on his ass. Anton stared at the blood pouring out of his wound, a dumbfounded look in his eyes. Emma used the moment it gave her to glance toward the out-of-control vessel, but she could not see either Regina or Ruby to know if they were.

Worry gnawed at her, but she focused on the present.

“What is this?” Anton asked between grunts of pain, trying to break the rope free from both the harpoon gun and the rod of metal stuck in his chest. Every time he yanked on the nylon, Emma heard a sharp intake of breath, and she could see the beginnings of tears forming at the corner of his eyes. The purple glow of magic began fading to white.

Guilt-tinged hope filled her. “Anton?” She kept her voice firm, but calm, in the hopes that the pain broke through whatever magic _thing_ Cora had pulled. His eye rolled in her direction and he looked confused for a heart wrenching moment before a wave of violet energy resurged itself through the whites of his eyes. Anton let out a snarl of renewed rage and _sprang_ to his feet, the harpoon gun dangling like a morbid pendulum.

Emma started backpedalling the moment Anton’s eyes changed, and by the time the earth shook with Anton’s lumbering steps, she was halfway across the docks in an all-out sprint. _Have to make him feel pain_ , she repeated the phrase in her head, trying to come up with a way to do so that wouldn’t be permanent.

The harpoon gun – rope and weapon trailing behind – sailed over her head like the world’s most dangerous kite. The ruined brick of metal dug into the ground in front of her with the weapon bouncing off it with a cheerful _tink_. Emma cursed, skidding enough so only her good side clipped the weapon. Emma kept her feet and forced herself to keep moving, shelving the knowledge that she would be one gigantic bruise to deal with later.

The screeching of overtaxed tires riding an aggressive turn sounded from the opposite end of the wharf, and Emma spotted David’s truck racing down the road straight at the giant. She let out a relieved laugh, never having been so happy to see the beat-up old diesel drinker. Mary-Margaret leaned out of the passenger-side window, raising a knocked bow, and Emma wondered if getting smacked by a giant had caused more damage than she thought, but a shake of her head did not change the sight in front of her.

Anton had either ignored or did not hear the truck, so when the arrow hit him square between the shoulders, he hollered in a combination of shock and pain, spinning to meet the new threat. Emma took the opportunity to rest, hands on her knees, and drank in breaths like a woman dying of thirst.

_Hate running. Absolutely hate running,_ she thought, fighting to get her composure back.

“How could there be _more_ of you!?” A strained whine lined the giant’s words. He took off at a charge toward the oncoming vehicle, reaching down to grab the discarded mast as he passed it. David turned the truck into a rough, sliding stop, but Emma judged that the giant was far too close for the vehicle to move again before Anton was on top of them.

Her heart leapt into her chest at the thought, but both David and Mary Margaret scrambled out of the truck as Anton swung the mast down into the truck, crushing it as if it was made of aluminum foil. Anton raised the weapon and slammed it down again and again and _again_ in a savage display in disregarding the sanctity of personal property. The pair of fairy-land heroes slipped around the giant as he did so, running straight for her.

She jogged to meet them, keeping one eye on the magical thirty-foot tall being throwing a tantrum that could put a toddler to shame.

“Emma.” Mary Margaret embraced her, but let go the instant Emma hissed in pain and transitioned straight into mother hen mode.

“I’m alright,” she said. She shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable under their combined concern. “Tell me we have a plan?”

“We did,” David said, looking over his shoulder toward the scrap metal that used to be his truck. “It kind of got crushed.” A melancholic frown crossed his face, and Mary Margaret patted his arm in an absent, instinctive gesture of comfort.

“We can improvise,” the schoolteacher said. She grinned at David, wicked with a taunting flare. “Think we can outrun a giant?”

David let out a sharp laugh, matching her smile. “I guess we’re going to find out.”

On some level, Emma realized, the duo were enjoying this and wondered if insanity ran in the family.

“JAMES!!!” The giant’s roaring yell shook the ground as much as his steps, and both David and Mary Margaret’s faces _dropped_ into masks of pure determination, their attention turning back on Anton. He had stopped beating on the heap of twisted scrap and turned on the trio with his chest heaving. “I don’t care how many visions you send at me, I will end you! Show me which one of you is real and I will make it quick. A mercy you denied my family!”

“Charming?” Mary Margaret conveyed something in that one word that David understood, but went over Emma’s head.

“I don’t know,” her deputy said. The grip he held on his sword turned his knuckles bone white. David stared down the giant, gaze unwavering. “His ghosts have hunted me for years, why should it stop in another realm?”

“Can one of you please explain to me what’s going on? Who the hell is James?”

“My brother.” Emma blinked, but before David could elaborate on that _detailed_ answer or she could process the fact that she had an _uncle_ , the man stepped forward and spoke to the would-be murderer, the picture of calm composure.

“James is dead!” Anton’s lip twisted into a silent snarl. “He was killed many years ago.” David sighed. “I’m his twin brother, David!” The story sounded farfetched to Emma’s ears, but she was predisposed to trust the man.

“Liar! This is more human treachery!” Anton lurched forward in motion once again. Mary Margaret knocked and loosed three arrows in rapid succession, each hitting her target in the meat of his thigh.

Other than a hiss of pain that might have been fitting on a pterodactyl, the giant did not react or slow his pace.

“Now we move,” Emma suggested, aching legs already pumping. The pair flanked her and kept pace just one step behind.

“We have to get him over to the fairies,” Mary Margaret said, shouldering her bow. Her pale cheeks were flushed with color.

“We can’t take him through the town.” Emma dismissed the idea without question. “Can you get them here?”

David shook his head. “They had to set up between Franklin and Main, outside Town Hall.”

“The same town hall that’s right by the school?” Emma wished she had the breath left to shout. David grimaced but didn’t answer. The mangled remains of the harpoon gun loomed ahead and Emma knew were running out of ground. Emma cursed under her breath. “Do you have your gun, David?”

“Ah…no.”

“Grabbed your sword but not your gun?”

“Old habits.” Mary Margaret supplied the excuse for her husband. Emma opened her mouth to let off a sarcastic retort, but the sight of a soaking wet Regina crouching down just behind the twisted boulder of metal, her normally impeccable appearance devolved into a mess of ruined makeup, wild hair, and clinging clothes. The fire of determined focus in her eyes remained as the former mayor stared around the corner of her cover straight at Anton, one hand held out toward an equally drenched Ruby, signaling the woman to stay in place.

Her deputy held the blood covered harpoon at the ready, every one of her muscles held tense and a feral, anticipatory grin displaying her pearly whites to the world.

Emma registered everything in the split second it took to run past them, and she longed to put a stop to their plan, but she was fresh out of alternatives.

“Now, Miss Lucas!” Regina ordered, and Emma spun to a stop, breath held. David and Mary Margaret did the same. Ruby _leapt_ just as Anton passed by, using the weapon’s mount for leverage, and lunged with all her weight to bury the harpoon half to the hilt in the side of Anton’s calf.

The guttural cry of the scared and injured escaped Anton’s throat as he collapsed first to his knees, then to his chest. A meaty hand reached back and pawed toward his calf in a panic. “What did you do, what did you _do!?_ ” Moments ago Emma would not have believed the high pitched, hoarse tone could come out of the giant’s mouth. Her stomach twisted.

She _hated_ this situation.

Swallowing bile, Emma drew her empty gun and aimed it at the ground in front of Anton. She put on her game face and tried to seem as intimidating as she could. Ruby and Regina circled behind her to stand next to David and Mary Margaret, but Emma did not dare spare them a glance.

“Anton, stop moving!” She made her voice calm and demanding. His eyes snapped to her and Emma let out a shaky breath. The purple glow was gone, replaced by a haze of pained confusion. She holstered the weapon, not seeing the need to bluff if the giant was once more in his right mind.

“Emma? What happened, where is that bastard?” His hand found the harpoon and he yanked, crying out in pain, eyes screwing shut. Her hard mask cracked and she cried out.

“Don’t! We’ll get that taken care of.” She took a hesitant step forward with a gentle smile. Anton stopped moving, but his hand didn’t leave the metal embedded in his leg.

“You have to be careful. He has to be nearby, and he’s dangerous!” He was looking around wildly, looking but not seeing. Emma took another step closer to the downed giant, arms held up, placating.

“Easy big fella, we don’t have to worry about him.” She moved another step closer and Anton’s breathing slowed some, calming down. “Can you…shrink?” The man nodded.

“Yes. The witch’s trinket can do it.” He moved his free hand into his robes. “I think I—” He froze, face falling as he spotted something over Emma’s shoulder. “You liar!” Anton’s gaze snapped back to Emma. “You’re with both James _and_ the Evil Queen!” Emma’s blood chilled and the malevolent energy sparked in Anton’s eyes again.

_For fuck’s sake_.

She pulled her gun to bear again, hoping he bought her threat. “Anton,” She focused her entire gaze on the giant’s. “There is _no_ James here. I don’t know what you are seeing, but you have to stay down while we try and help—”

“Emma!” Four panicked shouts cut her off. Emma whipped her head behind her, finding Regina holding both hands out in front of her with her eyes wide in fear, both David and Mary Margaret lunging toward her while Ruby pointed with a look of abject terror. With a spark of anxious fear, she looked back to Anton to realize he was stabbing the harpoon, now covered in blood and chunky bits of _giant_ , right at her heart for a sweeping blow.

In the split second it took to take it all in, Emma realized she could not move in time.

A fear, primal, instinctive, and mind-numbing gripped Emma’s heart, blanking her thoughts. She could hear the thundering of her own pulse pounding in her ears, and her body tensed for the impact.

The harpoon closed the last inches to her chest, and the world dissolved into a flash of violet light, the thunderous crack of displaced air, and the unnerving sensation of weightlessness.

Seconds later, Emma saw only the dreary gray clouds looming over Storybrooke and took a series of shuddering breaths, realizing she was still alive. A laugh of pure and complete relief bubbled out of her throat.

And morphed into a strangled cry as the pain set in.

Her entire left side bloomed in a white hot river of agony, and it was all Emma could do to not lose herself into it. Blinking back tears, she forced herself to look at the injury. Thankful as she was that a harpoon was not embedded into her chest, the sight of her left arm laying at an impossible angle and not responding to mental commands filled her with a morbid combination of curiosity and dread. The renewed stab of pain she felt on every breath did not bode well for her ribs, either.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret’s hysterical cry came from behind, and Emma arced her neck to try and see, regretting the motion immediately as her injured side screamed in protest. She went limp and bit back a vocal cry as two brunettes came into her field of vision. Ruby and Mary Margaret stared at her with a mix of disbelief, relief, and worry. “Oh gods…”

Emma tried to shelve the pain, finding little success. “David? Regina?” The names came out gruff and terse, her breaths coming hard and quick through her nose.

“Come get me you _bastard!_ ” Emma turned her head to see David slice at Anton’s knees as the giant lumbered to his feet. The man did not slow down at the blow and kept moving at an all out sprint toward the town proper. With yet another war cry, Anton lurched to his feet and went after him with a limping gait.

_Shit, shit, shit_. Emma tried to sit up again, but both her injury and Mary Margaret’s firm hand on her good shoulder kept her in place. She let out a hiss of frustration.

“We have to help.”

“David knows where to go, and the fairies will take care of the rest.” Mary Margaret lifted the corner of Emma’s leather jacket and pulled down the corner of her shirt. The way the woman’s face paled unsettled Emma far more than the pain. She arced her neck, but could only see purple.

“That’s probably not good,” Ruby said, voice strained. The newest deputy shuffled from foot to foot, hands flexing.

“I would say not.” The two women above her turned toward Regina’s voice. Matching, expressions of conflicting emotions crossed their faces and, for a moment, the pair appeared as sisters.

“Regina…” Mary Margaret trailed off, mouth chewing on unspoken words

“Save it.” Regina barked out the words. She came into Emma’s field of vision, glaring and arms crossed. “Foolish idiot.” She accused without a hint of sympathy.

Emma could not disagree, but saved the self-deprecation for later. “Yup.” She coughed, and the fresh wave of pain turned it into a sound Emma refused to acknowledge as a whimper. “Can you take care of this?”

Regina let out a huff of irritation. “Only if I wanted to kill us both. It would take too much energy for a skilled user, and I’ve never studied healing magic.” Emma grimaced, trying to move again, but Mary Margaret’s hand held her down. Emma did not bother to hide her frustration. It was getting harder to focus.

“ _Something_? To get me through. Savior. Have to help.” Regina stared at her, hard. She frowned.

“Pin her arm against her chest, Snow.”

“What?” The woman’s voice raised several octaves. “We need to wait for an ambulance or, or get her to Doctor Whale ourselves.”

“I’ll get him here,” Ruby said, fishing in her pocket for her phone. Emma grit her teeth. They were wasting _time_.

“Just do it Mary Margaret.” Her voice sounded strangled. “ _Please_.” Emma locked gazes with the woman that would have been her mother and tried to stare her down. After several excruciating seconds, Mary Margaret bowed her head. Emma closed her eyes, relieved, and braced herself.

She could not stop the scream that tore from her throat.

The fire in her nerves lasted only a few seconds before it was replaced by a cold _nothingness_ , but Emma kept her eyes screwed shut for long moments afterward, trying to regain her composure and ignore the tracks of wetness that slipped down her cheeks.

With a long breath, she blinked her eyes open, feeling oddly empty in the absence of the pain. She sat up, looking at her injured arm with a morbid curiosity. It crossed over her stomach, bent at the elbow, with an unseen force holding it in place as if it were in a sling. Unable to help herself, she poked her injured shoulder right in the center of a forming bruise, and felt nothing.

“Huh,” she said, using her good arm to get to her feet. She took a tentative deep breath and, though stuttered, there was no pain. She nodded, mentally prepping herself. “Okay, let’s get after them.” Three near-identical looks of disbelief met her statement, though Regina’s held a touch more anger than the other two.

“Are you concussed, Swan?” She stepped closer, studying Emma’s eyes. Emma took a step back, unnerved under the intense gaze. “I only took away the pain, not the damage. The only thing rushing off into battle will do is get you hurt worse. Or _killed_.” The silence from Ruby and Mary Margaret was less than encouraging.

Emma heard the logic in Regina’s words, but pushed that aside. “Doesn’t matter.” She took a chance and moved to push through Regina, leading with her injured shoulder. The woman scrambled out of her way, startled. Emma took a couple quick, jogging steps to test herself and threw her best no-nonsense look over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Running with one arm pinned against her stomach proved more difficult than Emma anticipated, but she still managed a decent clip. The other three women kept pace behind her – holding back, Emma knew – and she could feel their eyes drilling holes in the back of her skull every step of the trek toward the center of town.

When they rounded off the corner of Franklin to the side street that split it from Main between the Town Hall and the school, Emma skidded to a halt. Raggedy breaths took their toll on her endurance, but the sight before her would have stopped her in her tracks had she been at one hundred percent.

The road had been built wider than most others in town to accommodate the consistently high level of traffic that came with the two centers of community activity. Anton stood in the dead center of the street, mouth open in a silent scream as he beat his mighty fists against a barrier she could not see. Chromatic rings of light rippled through the air with each blow.

In a wide circle around the giant, the ground glowed a brilliant white, energy crackling up from the pavement in a supernatural campfire. A nun stood at each of the cardinal points around the magic circle with Mother Superior standing closest to Emma at the northernmost point.

She spotted David laying on the ground off to the side, chest heaving with each breath and laughing at something Leroy was saying as the former drunk loomed over him. Nova, Archie, and the other dwarves stood by him as well, forming a rough arc around the hero of the day; though their attention was split between the prince and the display of energy.

Emma leaned against the nearest object – the flagpole outside Storybrooke Elementary – and felt exhausted in every sense of the word. She watched Anton fall to his knees within the circle, the weight of the crash cracking the pavement beneath the giant. The ground did not shake. Emma slid down the pole until she sat on the ground, determination and drive leaving her.

A hand rested on her shoulder and Mary Margaret offered her a sympathetic smile. Ruby stood just behind her, enthralled by the nuns’ display of magic, and Regina stared toward the school with a melancholic gaze that matched Emma’s newfound mood. She followed the woman’s line of site to the school’s top floor, where Emma spotted a gaggle of kids pressed up against each window, watching the events with the wide-eyed amazement of youth.

She spotted Henry peering out of the one closest to the action, his curious eyes wide and jaw hung open in surprised wonder. Emma could not help the smile that tugged at her lips.

“Kid’s enjoying the show.” Emma’s brow furrowed as her words came out slurred. Looking back toward the magical trap. Anton started shrinking down, his hands on his head, still bellowing an unheard scream.

Looked like the fairies and David had the situation well at hand.

“Yes he is…” Regina said with a sigh. Emma’s eyes started to drift closed, and she felt no need to fight them. They did not need her.

“Emma? Emma!?” Emma did not know who shouted her name, but decided it did not matter as the darkness claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that turned out to be one really long scene, but Anton is captured! David and the fairies did the final trapping - having had time to come up with a plan while Emma and the rest played Yakety Sax with the giant. One important thing I hoped I presented through the chapter was that Emma is completely, utterly, out of her depth with this magic thing. She's flying by the seat of her pants trying to come up with solutions to these problems, and has come up short in her own view. This is going to be a major motivator for her in the times to come. That's not to say she's useless, of course, but our Savior needs to get used to playing by a completely new set of rules, and she keeps getting blindsided.
> 
> She was able to cope while trapped in fairy tale land, but returning home was supposed to be the end of it, you see.
> 
> But things never go the way we plan, do they?
> 
> So, tell me what you think! Good, bad, boring, awesome? Next chapter will be a bit special as a sort of 'end of intro arc' roundup. Multiple points of view, shorter scenes. Just to catch up on where the major players stand. We'll get inside the minds of Henry, David, Snow, Regina, Emma, and Rumple. Maybe more if the chapter calls for it. Until then, happy reading!


	5. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the first chapter with multiple PoVs! I figure this type of chapter will come at various times within or at the end of an arc to sort of tidy things up. At the end of last chapter I mentioned we would be having more characters than the three below, but Henry's section ended up including material that had originally been divided among four characters. At this point he knows just enough, and doesn't know just enough to make the interactions interesting. At least I hope so. Anyway, onto the show!
> 
> (Edited and updated as of 11/4/2014)

* * *

**David I**

* * *

David leaned against his desk, arms crossed, as he watched Blue and two of her fairies work their dust-driven magic. Pure exhaustion hovered at the end of his conscious notice, but it still took nearly all of his willpower to stand around in inactivity as they secured Storybrooke’s newest prisoner. The human-sized giant let out a whimpering moan from where he lay on the cell’s bed, his injured leg propped up on spare books David had found.

The deputy knew he should feel pity for the man – if nothing else but for whatever trauma Prince James had brought into his life - but at that moment his annoyance at not being by his daughter’s side won out.

“He secure?” He asked the fairy nearest him. Nova, he believed her name was, gave him a shy smile, head slightly bowed so she did not quite meet his eyes.

“Just about.” There was a chipperness to her that David tried not to let irritate him. Nova had come through in the clutch and saved them all a world of trouble by gathering the fairies and coming up with the anti-magic bubble plan.

She deserved what remained of his patience.

“Once Mother Superior finishes the enchantment, no magic will be able to be used anywhere near the cell.”

The woman in question stood a foot from Anton’s cell, blue wand carving characters into thin air in a runic language that David did not recognize. If he strained himself, he could hear her speaking her peoples’ native tongue beneath her breath.

“How long do you think?” He took his weight off his desk and stretched his stiff joints and aching muscles with several satisfying pops.

“I can’t really say. This sort of thing is kind of beyond me right now.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “But I think we’ll be fine here if you want to get to the hospital…” David sighed. Blue had made the same offer before she’d started the spell.

He repeated his answer despite wanting to sprint over to Storybrooke General. “Someone with a badge has to stick around.” With Ruby cataloguing the damage and Emma down for the count, David won the dubious honor of securing the prisoner. He was grateful Emma had taken on Ruby that morning, not wanting to think of how overwhelming the day would have been, otherwise.

“Such a sense of duty, perhaps Albert was wrong about you.” At the mention of the fugitive distract attorney’s name, David braced himself for a fight while turning around. Two men stood just inside the station proper, one stone-faced and the other with a cocksure grin.

“Mitchell. Adrian.” He greeted the two in the clipped tone he developed a liking for when dealing with unreasonable nobles back in the Enchanted Forest. Neither of the men had been on the receiving end before, and missed the unspoken warning.

“Midas, if you please, Sheriff.” Adrian returned the greeting with a bemused smile. “Or should I say Deputy? It’s difficult to keep track of who’s holding onto official positions nowadays.”

David ignored the jibe. “What do you need?” The former king hummed, glanced at his companion, and waved the man forward.

Though both middle-aged, the men stood in stark contrast to one another. Midas was of average height, maintained a comfortable portly girth, and wore his hair down to his shoulders to complement a generous beard. And where Midas exuded warmth – false as it may have been – Mitchell Herman was chipped from ice. Curly hair cropped short, clean shaven, and standing of a height with David, the man embodied ‘no-nonsense.’

They were as different in Storybrooke as they had been in the Enchanted Forest.

“Ever since the curse was broken, it has become more and more evident to us that things cannot remain as they are.” Mitchell placed his palms flat on David’s desk and looked him dead in the eye. “This latest _event_ only confirms how woefully ill-prepared this town is to house the peoples of the Enchanted Forest.”

David crossed his arms, shifting his tone from irritated prince to annoyed officer. “It’s an isolated incident that’s already been taken care of.” He cocked his head behind him at the imprisoned giant and the fairies working their magic. Nova, who had shrunk closer to Blue since the two men entered, perked up at his words with a soft smile, but said nothing.

“Not before the beast rampaged through town,” Midas countered, a frown having replaced his jovial expression. “So much property damage,” he said with a slow shake of his head.

“In addition to those injured in the fighting.” David’s teeth gritted together at Mitchell’s words.

“I don’t need to be reminded that people got hurt defending this town. My _daughter_ is one of them.”

Mitchell matched David’s aggression. “And my _son_ was working in the cannery today. Right by the docks.” The man did not yell, but his voice came out with the strained heat of repressed anger. The lines in his forehead deepened as he grimaced. “Right by where the _giant_ attacked. One wrong step and the building could have collapsed right on top of him.” David felt some anger leaving him as sympathy churned in his gut.

“There is quite a bit of concern among certain factions.” Midas picked up in the silence Mitchell’s rant left in its wake. “A witch on the loose, a pirate along with her.” David schooled his features to hide his surprise. How did they know about Cora and Hook?

“And you have the gods damned _Evil Queen_ running around town like the Sheriff’s personal attack dog.” Mitchell sneered, standing back up to his full height. David’s empathy toward the man evaporated. “And nothing but silence from any official channels.”

“People are worried, and the silence from town leadership is not helping things.” Midas spoke.

David resisted the urge to lash out at the men. He tried to drum up the dregs of his patience. He took a slow breath, choosing his words with care. “I appreciate your concern, gentlemen.” Their jawlines tightened as they recognized the words as a dismissal. “But I think you’d have better luck with your _concerns_ at Town Hall than here.” He waved his hand out toward the hallway.

Neither man moved.

“And what would that accomplish?” Mitchell asked, disdain staining his words. “There is nobody in power there.”

“The council—”

Midas interrupted, pouncing on the word. “Is five people who’ve never had to make a decision in twenty-nine years. They were Regina’s yes-men, and they’ve been running in circles ever since she was rightly removed from power.”

Mitchell took up the cause. “And every major decision that has impacted the _entire_ town has come down to just your family’s choice since then, Deputy. Convenient.”

David rubbed his temples. “You’re clearly going somewhere with this. Please just say it so we can deal with it.”

“We’re all stuck in this backwater town with no way to get back to the Enchanted Forest.” Mitchell grimaced. “And the status quo cannot remain as it is.”

“Change is coming, Prince David,” Midas said with a shrug. “Whether you want it to or not. Folks are going to be looking for leadership, and, well, there are many in Storybrooke who were not part of your kingdom.”

“And don’t want to have any part in your petty wars spilling out into this new land.” Mitchell finished while tightening his fingers into white-knuckled fists. David held his tongue. Impatience, annoyance, and a touch of anxiousness all bubbled beneath the surface, and he did not have the convenience of time to process them right then. Mitchell grinned at his silence, cold and sharp.

“Does that worry you, Deputy?”

Midas grasped his compatriot by the shoulder. “This is just us presenting our concerns, David,” he said with his false smile. “We’ll leave you to your…work.” Midas bowed his head a fraction of an inch and turned to take his leave. Mitchell lingered a few moments longer, sizing David up and down, but he too left when David did not flinch under the gaze.

Once they were out of sight, he ran a hand over his face and sighed in weary frustration. He would need to warn Snow. They could come up with a plan to deal with something _else_ piling up on their plate. He reminded himself that as long as he and Snow had each other, they could face down any threat and come out on top.

Especially to protect their family.

An azure light behind him, accompanied by a dull _crack-snap_ , stole his attention. He turned, finding Nova fretting over Blue and her companion who were supporting each other’s weight to stay upright. The head fairy swept sweaty hair out of her eyes but wore a light smile.

“It’s done.” She took one look at his face and her expression fell. “What did I miss?” David sighed. Where to begin?

“Blue?” Nova spoke with a quiver of concern in her tone. David followed the pink fairy’s gaze toward their prisoner, where a dull green glow pulsed above his heart.

“That’s unusual,” Blue said, frowning. “It’s only supposed to glow green in the presence of benign magic.” To emphasize her point, she stuck her wand through the bars and it was enveloped in the same green light as quick as if she had flipped a switch.

“Did you not search him?” The third fairy David did not know the name of asked with a hint of snide incredulity.

“Of course I did,” David said, grabbing the cell’s keys and moving between the fairies. “But it’s possible something was missed.” He pulled open the cell and approached Anton at a hesitant pace. The giant did not stir from his slumber.

Confident the sedatives would continue to hold, David peeled back the fabric of Anton’s robe to find the glow emanating from a solid patch of fabric indistinguishable from the rest. Something solid indented the robe as he prodded the spot.

“Whatever it is, it’s sewn in directly to the shirt,” he reported to the watching trio. With cautious precision, David pulled his pocket knife and slid a small incision along the edge of the glow. He opened it up until he was able to pull a tiny container from within the stuffed cloth.

He held the jar up to eye level and blanched when he recognized the translucent bean held within.

“It’s nothing,” he said, stuffing the magic bean into his pocket and schooling his features.   
“Some personal trinket.” His mind whirled at the possibilities and he knew he had to speak with Snow as soon as possible.

* * *

**Henry I**

* * *

Henry trailed behind his mother and grandmother, looking between the two with a frown on his face. All of the last half hour after the fairies had captured an actual giant – which was _awesome_ – had been so _weird_. From waiting for an ambulance to take Emma to the hospital, to riding in silence in the truck they’d borrowed from Leroy, and now trailing behind a sour faced man in scrubs, neither his mom nor his grandmother had said one bad thing to each other.

Henry knew their history well, having read that section of his book the most, and they were _not_ acting like he expected. The few times they did speak, they were almost polite to each other.

It worried Henry almost as much as Emma’s being hurt.

The nurse stopped in front of a small room. “Doctor Whale will update you as soon as he can,” he said, waving them inside with a grumpy expression. Both his mother and grandmother glared at the man, whose eyes widened and he left, his steps quick.

The waiting room did not have much in it. Stiff looking plastic seats lined the walls, looking as uninviting as chairs could. A dusty, magazine-covered table sat in the middle of the floor, and an old box TV hung on the wall, but the picture showed only snow. Henry sighed, knowing he would have nothing to distract him from his worry.

Both women entered the room before him, heading for seats on opposite walls. Henry furrowed his brows as he looked between the pair of former queens, trying to figure out where he was supposed to sit. His gram smiled at him, patting the seat next to her. He glanced toward his mom, whose lips formed into a tight smile. She gave a small nod, and her eyes drifted first to her rival, then toward the static on the TV.

Henry frowned. His mother held herself the way she always did when she was upset and trying to hide it. Decision made, he walked over and plopped down into the seat next to the woman who had once been known as the Evil Queen.

_But not anymore_ , Henry thought with a smile. He did not know the details of what exactly happened earlier in the day, but he knew his mother had helped his grandparents and Emma and the fairies stop the bad guy.

It meant she was trying, and that was enough.

The surprised smile that lit up the women’s features boosted Henry’s confidence, and the arm that drifted over his shoulders offered a sense of comfort he had not looked for in almost a year. He snuggled into the embrace, the familiar smell of apples and cinnamon and the warmth her one-armed hug offered eased Henry’s worries.

His gram’s smile had gone, but she did not look angry. Instead she seemed sad, her eyes glassing over the way Emma’s did whenever she was bored. He could not figure out what she was thinking, and the ex-bandit did not speak.

They waited in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, and then waited some more. Henry grew restless and anxious, but stayed put under his mother’s steady grip. When Doctor Whale pushed his way into the room, though, all three of them sprang up in a flash.

Whale seemed exhausted with dark circles under his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes. He looked to each of them in turn before focusing on his gram and speaking.

“Considering she faced down a giant, I can say that she was _extremely lucky_.” He talked with a tone of aggravation that annoyed Henry. “Several cracked ribs, massive bruising, a severely dislocated shoulder, numerous lacerations, and nearly every muscle in her back and shoulders is strained, torn, or otherwise beaten up.” Henry’s eyes widened with each additional injury listed, mouth going dry and heart beating faster. It sounded like Emma had gotten _really_ hurt. “All on top of a mild concussion.” His mother muttered something under her breath that Henry couldn’t quite make out.

“Gods…” His gram said, hand covering her mouth, skin paler than normal.

Whale nodded. “She’ll survive.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But it’ll be awhile before she’s healed up enough to survive another bout with idiocy.” The doctor did not flinch away from the annoyed glare he received from both women.

“Can we see her?” His gram’s voice changed to match her annoyance.

Whale ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She’s awake.” He paused for a moment, considering. “And complaining.” He shook his head again, eyes focusing. “Only two at a time, though. Policy.”

With that, Doctor Whale gave them a halfhearted wave and stalked back out into the hall. An awkward quiet fell on them after he left and none of them moved. The moment passed when his mother rested hands on both of Henry’s shoulders.

“Go on,” she said, a small smile on her face that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. Henry frowned. He recognized it as one of the smiles she used to use when the town was still cursed.

Before he could think on that, his gram reached back for his hand. “Come on, Henry.” His mother nodded the tiniest fraction and Henry followed after his grandmother, choosing to _not_ take the woman’s hand.

He was almost twelve, after all.

He spared a look back over his shoulder before the room fell out of site. His mother had sat back down, head resting back against the wall with her eyes closed. The guarded expression he was used to was firmly set in place. He frowned, but put it out of his mind as they arrived at the curtained off section of the room that held Emma’s bed within.

His other mother lay back on the angled mattress, glaring at the air in front of her. Her left arm rested in a sling, her opposite hand wrapped in enough bandages so she would not be able to make a fist. Compression bandages lined both her legs and arms, covering most of them. What little skin Henry spotted was mottled purple, green, and yellow.

 

“Emma?” His grandmother’s voice was kind and he imagined she would be smiling, but he could not take his eyes off the injured woman in front of him. Something unpleasant twisted in his stomach.

The sheriff flinched, startled, and grimaced in pain, eyes blinking back to focus. She turned her head to face them, eyes landing on Henry, and her entire demeanor changed. A bright smile bloomed on her face and her eyes lit up. Henry found himself returning the gesture, immediately feeling better.

“Hey, Kid.” She sat up with a grunt of effort, cradling her slung arm closer to her chest. “Enjoy the show?”

“Yeah!” He said, bouncing on his toes. “I never thought the fairies’ magic would look so cool. That was all fairy dust, right?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah. You should have seen Nova’s earlier. It did this thing where the dust turned pink, surrounded Hook’s pirate ship, and popped like a giant bubble. It was kind of ridiculous.” She let out a soft laugh.

“I wonder if it changes for every fairy that uses it.” He mused, trying to imagine what each color would look like.

“Dunno, but we could probably get them to put on one hell of a light show if it does.” She smiled. “I wonder if any of the nuns can play heavy metal.”

Henry laughed at the mental image. “I don’t think the Blue Fairy would let them.”

Emma sighed and leaned back into her raised mattress. “Probably not.” A thought struck Henry.

“How do fairies get their color, anyway?” Emma blinked, considering for a moment before shrugging.

“They’re born with it.” His gram stepped up to Emma’s bed, hands resting on the plastic footrest at the end. “Their magical flowers bloom to bring the fairies to life, and whatever color that flower was, well…” She trailed off, eyes looking at each of Emma’s injuries. “How are you feeling, Emma?”

“Like an idiot,” she said, waving off her mother’s concerns. She blinked, looking like she had just remembered something important. “Where’s Regina? Is someone with her?” Emma pulled herself to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs over the side with a grunt and grimace.

His gram’s hand shot out and landing firmly against Emma’s good shoulder.

“She’s just outside. Cora’s not going to attack a hospital.”

“Maybe not, but we’re finding out she pretty much has free reign to go anywhere she wants.” She went to stand, but her mother’s hand pushed her back into place.

“And we’ll work on fixing that, but you’re hurt, Emma. You need to _rest_.” The woman pushed Emma gently back until she was resting against pillows again. Emma had closed her eyes, jaw clenched. When her eyes open again, Henry saw more anger there than he had ever seen in the woman’s eyes before.

He took a step back without thinking.

She glanced to him, blinked, and it was gone, replaced by a weary smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

“Your mom saved my life today, you know.”

Henry’s eyes widened, startled. “She did?” That was a level beyond just helping the heroes. That was _being_ one.

“Yeah, big magic shield.” She held her free arm out wide. “Stopped Anton in his tracks.” She glanced down at her arm in the sling and cocked her head in consideration. “Well, mostly.”

“Huh.” Henry’s thoughts jumbled. His mother used magic, breaking her promise, but saving Emma’s life made up for that. It was like the well all over again, only he had not had to ask – to _beg_ \- this time. The hope he nursed his heart bloomed tenfold. His mother _could_ be redeemed. She didn’t have to be the Evil Queen!

“Mary Margaret, I need you to get together with Mother Superior, figure out how to get defenses on most of the public buildings with a lot of traffic. The school, town hall, Granny’s, the works.”

“Emma—“

“I need a plan of action by morning.”

“You need—“

“I need you out there, helping to make this town _safe_. I can’t do that right now, so I’m asking you to.” Emma almost rushed the words out.

Henry bobbed his head back and forth, watching the women toss words back and forth like a tennis match. Emma was staring the former queen down, jaw set. His grandmother’s expression tensed, then softened when she nodded a few moments later.

“Right, well.” The woman shuffled from foot to foot for a moment. “If you need your father or I…” Emma flinched the tiniest bit, eyes drifting down. His gram continued on like she did not to notice. “We’re just a phone call away.”

The woman patted Emma’s leg, gave him a quick hug, and left. Henry studied Emma for a long moment, confused by her reaction. There was always a weird tenseness around the apartment ever since Emma and his grandmother had gotten back from the Enchanted Forest, but Henry had not thought much of it until now.

Did Emma… not like her parents? That did not seem true to Henry, but he could not figure out any other explanation. It especially didn’t make sense since her parents were _Snow White_ and _Prince Charming_. Henry was thrilled to have them as grandparents, but Emma definitely felt differently.

Adults were strange.

“What happened to Snow? Looks like she just....” Henry’s mother stepped by the curtain, trailing off as she took in the sight before her. Emma snapped back to attention, eyes focusing on his mom. “And you look just as awful. What happened, Sheriff, too much of your mother’s _kindness_ at once?” Her lips twisted to a sneer for half a second and was gone before Henry was sure he had seen it.

“Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence. “What?” His mom asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. Emma repeated her thanks.

“You didn’t have to. I made a stupid choice and it made you break your promise to Henry, but you saved my life, and I…” Emma looked to struggle with her words for a second before looking the former queen dead in the eye. “Just, _thank you_.”

His mom’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she got words out. “You’re welcome.” She crossed her arms and looked out a nearby window few feet to the left of Emma’s bed.

The silence that followed was awkward, and Henry had the impression that the two women just did not know what to do after being nice to each other. He broke the quiet with the first thing that popped into his mind.

“So what makes the fairies’ magic different than yours?” His mom looked to him, startled. So did Emma, but once both had their attention on him, Henry did not feel the tension in the air anymore.

“Well,” his mom started, head tilted to the side and eyes upward in thought. She shifted into ‘teacher’ mode, which Henry had not seen since the last time he’d needed help with homework. Years ago. “It comes down to the tools used to create it.”

“Fairy dust?” Henry guessed. His mom nodded.

“Right. All magic is energy, so it has to come from somewhere.” She relaxed her stance, arms uncrossing. “For the fay, they have their dust and artifacts to help enhance their natural abilities.” She paused, a frown tugging on her lips. “For the rest of us—.”

“All magic comes with a price.” Emma interrupted, her brows furrowed. She was staring at her uninjured hand, opening and closing it to a fist and back again.

“Not quite enough flamboyance for the impersonation, but yes.” His mom looked at Emma like she was trying to figure something out. After a moment she shook her head and continued. “It takes a combination of mental and physical energy to cast, and, for the simple spells, that’s all the price there is. The more complicated the spell, the… _higher_ the cost.”

Her eyes went glassy and Henry found he had accidentally turned the mood from awkward to somber, but he could not stop himself from asking the question he was _really_ curious about.

“Is that why theirs is good and yours is…not?” Henry had been trying to make sense of it all afternoon. In the book, people were afraid of the Dark One and the Evil Queen because of the power they controlled, but they always went to the fairies for help. Plus, if his mother had used the same powers she always had to save Emma’s life, he could not figure out how they could be evil.

The quiet that followed his question was deafening. His mom stared at the ground in front of her, lips pursed. Emma was watching his mom as well, curious.

The former queen sighed and shook her head. “Magic makes things easy. Far too easy, and you get lost trying to get anything you could possibly want, as long as you’re willing to pay the price.”

“Power corrupts.” Emma offered the saying with a solemn nod.

“Apt, I suppose. The further you go, the simpler the choice seems to be.” His mom sounded sad, and it strained her voice. “It was never the magic that made me the Evil Queen, Henry.”

“It was how you used it.” His mom shot Emma a sharp look, but the savior didn’t flinch. Instead, she continued. “You know better now, though. Which is great, considering you’re going to be teaching me.”

A heartbeat of silence followed.

“What?” His mom’s voice was flat, disbelieving. Emma sat up to get as much height as she could.

“I’m out of my depth here, Regina. If we’re going to stand a chance to keep this town safe—” She waved in Henry’s direction. “To keep our _son_ safe. I need to know how to use and control my... powers.”

It clicked for Henry, then, even as his mother looked completely taken aback by the turn of events. “Spiderman,” he said. Both his mothers looked to him, breaking off their newest staring contest. He put on his best ‘powerful and wise’ voice. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

There was another beat of silence, then Emma started to laugh and his mother grinned her genuine smile.

“Didn’t know you liked Spiderman,” Emma said.

“It was his favorite for years.”

The two women shared hesitant smiles, and the atmosphere in the room grew lighter. Talk of magic was put on the backburner, and Henry felt more at peace than he had since before his teacher slash grandmother had given him his book.

* * *

**Rumplestiltskin I**

* * *

Rumplestiltskin stood tall, rolling the palm-sized flask between long fingers. The golden potion sloshed with the movement, still a slave to gravity. When the liquid rested against the cork, he flipped it in his hand and held it in a white knuckled grip. Bae’s shawl lay on the glass countertop in front of him, its full length covering the display end to end. One pour separated him from escaping this backwater little town.

And then it was only an entire world separating him from his son.

Rumple placed his concoction down with extreme care, suppressing the urge to slam it against the glass. As always, he overcame one obstacle only to find a greater one blocking his path. This particular one loomed tall, its shadow deep.

Even after he had been expecting it.

Without magic, finding Baelfire would be a near impossible task. Rumple stared at the shawl, fingers pitter-pattering on the glass. Getting a person across the town line was a simple task, but forcing magic into a world whose basic physics were so fundamentally opposed to it was task that could be beyond even the powers of the Dark One.

An artifact, though, might survive well enough to be of use.

Before Rumple could explore that line of thought, his phone buzzed within his breast pocket. With a coy smile, he pulled it out to find a message from Belle.

His servant-turned-lover’s message left him both relieved and annoyed. She volunteered the remainder of her evening to helping Ruby Lucas catalogue the damage the giant’s rampage had caused through town as well as aiding the newly appointed deputy in calming the common masses, who, of course, needed word from an “official” source to feel safe.

Rumple let out a low chuckle. Belle had a good heart and a mind leant toward helping people, perhaps too much so, but it did leave his evening conveniently free. He returned her message with a brief wish of luck in dealing with the rabble and turned off his phone. He locked the shop with a light flick of the wrist, and withdrew a decanter of a bourbon from beneath the register.

There was research to be done.

He went to his back office and began taking books from the shelves in what would have seemed a random order to anyone but himself and Belle. His thoughts turned toward the hope of a magical battery, able to store magical energy and insulate it enough to keep it from dissipating. He frowned, placed his tomes on his desk, and quickly poured and drank a single finger of the amber liquid.

He just did not have enough data to be certain it was possible.

He allowed himself a melancholy moment of longing for his limitless library back in his fortress, but pushed past it, determined to succeed with the resources at his disposal.

Time compressed.

The method was old. Read, reference, re-read, cross-reference. Note, ponder, consider, create, discard, drink, repeat. Rumple called upon the Dark One’s power to speed his concentration and comprehension, churning through books and scrolls and texts at inhuman speeds. He let himself feel the comfort of familiar ritual, and did not break his focus until the bell above his shop’s door _dinged_.

Rumple blinked, surprised. His wards had not gone off at all. He reached out with his mental focus, finding they had not been disturbed in the slightest. Frowning, he took several cautious steps toward the sales floor.

_Of course_ , he thought when he caught sight of the intruder standing with a bag at her feet. She had eschewed her adornments from the Enchanted Forest, replacing them with the contemporary. In her crimson blazer, dark pants, and a light blouse with a carefully plunging neckline, the woman would no doubt turn heads.

But even while doing so, she would blend in.

She smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening. “Hello, Dear.” Rumple’s magic stirred in his center, and he sharpened his will.

“Cora.” He stepped around the glass display so that nothing but air separated the two. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“After all this time...” She cast a curious look around his shop. “Still collecting baubles?” She asked, smile never wavering.

“They all have their use,” he said lightly, not rising to the halfhearted jibe. “Quite a show this afternoon. Perhaps a bit blunt for my liking, but nonetheless effective.” She turned her focus back on him, eyebrows raised.

“I simply gave a man the means to achieve peace.” Her head lilted to the side at a slight angle. “Though he proved a remarkable asset, even if he failed his own goals.”

“Indeed.” A silence fell, the quiet allowing a sense of anticipation to grow between them. Cora seemed content to let it go on, eyes never leaving his, and so Rumple broke it. “And what is it you are after, dearie?” He considered for a moment. “I doubt you truly hold a grudge against your daughter.” An amused grin pulled at his lips. “After all, from the day she banished you to Wonderland, she became _exactly_ who you wanted her to be.”

The Queen of Hearts laughed. “Quite.” She shook her head. “Thirty years being in complete control would make anyone complacent. I needed to see her strength.” Her demeanor shifted to annoyance. “But I did not expect Regina to have…” She trailed off as if searching for the right word. “Allies.” Rumple hummed agreeably. He kept his face blank and waited, allowing another lull to settle until Cora broke it.

“This Emma Swan.” Cora pursed her lips. “She’s proving to be problematic.”

“She does have a knack for being in precisely the right spot to ruin your day,” Rumple said with a wry smile. “She _is_ the Savior.” Cora’s mouth formed an “o” for a brief moment before she regained her composure.

“A child born of True Love.” Cora said in a tone begetting dawning comprehension.

“That she was.”

Another lull fell between them as Cora digested the information. Rumple allowed the woman to direct the flow of the conversation, curious. If nothing else, his patience was his greatest strength.

Cora knew it and focused back on the present quickly. “Since I’ve been in this land, I have not found my daughter outside this woman’s company.” Something cold and dangerous glinted in Cora’s eyes. “I need to get them apart.”

Rumple raised an eyebrow. “Afraid to take them on directly?” He knew her answer, but the instantaneous appearance of the woman’s anger at his words almost brought one of his old, habitual cackles from his throat.

“I want my daughter,” Cora said in a tone so low Rumple felt it rumble through the air.

“Ah.” Rumple bowed his head in a shallow nod. It was a motivation as familiar as it was intense. “And the game has changed. She never had anywhere else to seek council and understanding, once upon a time, and now…” Rumple could not help the smirk that slipped onto his expression. Cora’s glare turned upon him, an unspoken accusation and challenge, but he just laughed. “I couldn’t care less for your family squabbles, dearie. My use for Regina has passed.”

“Which is why I come to you. To make a deal.”

 

Rumple’s eyebrows flicked up, amused. “Let me guess.” He held up both hands, index fingers pointing skyward for a moment before he turned them toward the woman. “You need Regina vulnerable and willing to turn to _you_ – who tormented her childhood and guided her on the path she now desperately seeks to avoid.” Cora’s jaw tightened, and the raw, static energy of caged anger rolled off the sorceress in waves.

He dropped his hands and shook his head. “It would be a foolish maneuver. Tearing down one of Regina’s only pillars of support might just set her over the edge.” As an afterthought, he added, “And the Charmings can be annoying pests when they set their minds to a task.” He waved his hands as if shooing a fly. “No deal.”

Cora smiled, unsettling Rumple. “Oh but you have not even seen what I would offer in return.” She bent at the waist to the bag at her feet. With tender care, she withdrew an opaque, white sphere held within a globe-stand wrought in gold and littered with runes.

A spark of recognition fired in the Dark One’s vast store of knowledge, and Rumple’s gathered magic twisted, ready to strike. It flowed around Cora’s own readied energies in whirl of currents unseen by the eye.

The device was a rarity. A type of magic invented by a paranoid sorcerer centuries previous; it would be the very key he needed. One drop of blood, a small bit of focused will, and a practitioner could find anyone who shared their blood in the entire world.

How convenient.

When Cora rose back to her full height, she held one shimmering palm just above the artifact’s surface. She wore the taunting smile of one who knew they had the upper hand.

Rumple hated that she _did_.

“It’s difficult to keep children in line, wouldn’t you agree?” She held the blank globe out to him, careful to keep her magic-laced hand just above the surface. One wrong twitch of a finger, and Rumple knew she could destroy the object with relative ease. “Help me put my family back together, and _this_ will help you find yours.”

He could not pass up the opportunity. “Deal,” he said through gritted teeth. Cora’s smug grin in answer did not improve his mood. “I will need time.”

“Of course,” Cora said, the glow in her hand fading to nothing. “I have waited decades. I can endure several days more.” She presented the globe to him and he snatched it from her, turning to set it down on the display counter with a disconcerting mix of apprehension and anticipation. For a moment he toyed with the idea of taking Cora down then and there.

But the nearly thirty year gap of knowledge stayed his hand. Though powerful in her own right, Cora’s true strength had always come from her merciless cunning. She would have a backup plan, and a contingency for the backup. Too little information to act left him stuck for the moment, not seeing the benefit in taking the risk.

“As much fun as it is to set giants loose on the woefully inept, we will need to play a subtler game.” Rumple tapped his fingers against the glass, considering. Belle could _not_ know of this. As much as she hated the Evil Queen, she was fond of the Savior. “You’ll know when your moment comes.”

He did not turn around, and they did not share goodbyes. The bell above his door sounded once more and Rumple was left alone with his thoughts, plans already forming. How to shatter the burgeoning bond between Swan and the Queen without being caught in the destructive wake that would no doubt follow...

The globe rested in front of him, taunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! A quick rundown of the ongoings after our most recent snafu. Tensions are running high and different people/factions are forming among the townsfolk while everyone with Big-Bad-Capability try to pull the strings behind the scenes. In canon, they sort of gloss over the power vacuum once Emma and Snow return from the Enchanted Forest. This combines with my earlier point of the timeline from the start of season 2 to the end of season 3 being ridiculously short. Until Snow is suddenly mayor in Season 4, the power question isn't addressed after the whole Albert Spencer/King George fiasco.
> 
> Needless to say, it will play a role as we move forward here.
> 
> The Henry scene is probably the favorite one I've written for the fic so far. Trying to write from the perspective of the child is interesting, and I had to constantly edit myself live while writing. What'd you think of it?
> 
> And Rumple is an odd one as well. There are so many mannerisms that Robert Carlyle puts into his performance that simply don't translate well to the novel format. Still, capturing his overall feel was one of my major goals here, and I'm not quite sure if it worked out completely. Please let me know your take on...well, my take.
> 
> Next time's PoV is still up in the air. I know what's going to happen, I just don't know who I want to show it through as of yet. Probably not Emma, since she had the most recent, but anyone else is pretty much fair game.
> 
> Which just made me realize I should probably ask this. Is there any PoV you guys would be interested in seeing in the future? Please let me know!


	6. Regina II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this one turned into a bit of a beast, but what can I say? Regina is a wordy narrator. We pick up two weeks from where we left off on the interlude, and events are starting to snowball as several factions make their moves at the same time. Should be a delightfully chaotic time!
> 
> (Edited and updated as of 11/7/2015)

Regina kept her sanity by pacing. The last fortnight had been a whirl of constant movement as the Sheriff – even injured as she was – demanded to be part of the recovery efforts following the fallout of the giant’s assault. And where the Sheriff went, she dragged Regina along. Declaring it ‘protection’ despite both women knowing Regina was more equipped to handle Cora than the Savior. The reasoning was beyond the former queen.

She went along with it even as it consistently threatened to push her beyond her patience. It enabled her to see Henry every day, and she now felt closer to her son than she had since before he hit double digits. When he was not in school, he trailed behind them about town, asking question after question about anything that sparked in his curious mind.

Nowadays his inquisitive nature had turned mostly toward magic.

The interest into the arcane arts triggered both Regina’s anxiety and hope. Thrilled as she was to have common ground with her son, to be _bonding_ with him again, she hesitated to let him delve too deeply, even into only the most basic of book knowledge.

But each time he was there to watch as the Sheriff had her help repair a road or storefront, his eyes would light up in that way that made her swell with pride. After she led the fairies in constructing the complex and powerful wards that now safeguarded Town Hall and the school, Henry spoke of nothing else for a full day afterward. He looked to her like he did to Emma and his grandparents.

Like a hero.

If the cost of her mended relationship with her son was her tolerance of Emma Swan’s constant presence, it was a price that Regina would pay many times over.

It did not preclude her from voicing her annoyance with the woman as she failed with the most simple of tasks yet _again_ , however.

“I could do this by the end of my first _day_ of instruction.” She stopped her aggravated steps, facing her would-be student. A makeshift fire pit, a small ring of fist-sized rocks around dry kindling, had been put together two weeks previously in the shadow of her prized apple tree. Swan sat cross-legged in front of it, a dejected frown on her face as her forehead beaded with sweat despite the frigid air.

“I’m working on it,” Emma said the words distractedly, still eyeing the very much _not_ burning wood.

“And I’m sure all the practice of staring at a pile of wood will be just the advantage we need in the coming battle.” The blonde’s eyes cut up to her, glaring, and Regina _finally_ felt the stirrings of energy rise around the woman. “There!” She said, pointing. “Use that!” Emma blinked, annoyance giving way to confusion, and the small trickle of gathered power withered back into nothing. Regina groaned in annoyance as she let her focus on magical perception drop.

“What? What did I do _this_ time?” Emma leaned back, resting her weight on the arm not resting in a sling.

“Did you not feel it?” Regina asked, crossing her arms. Emma stared at her without comprehension. Regina sighed. “Emotions, Emma. Your power was _there_ when you got angry at me. You need to use these emotions and _focus_ your will.”

“I didn’t feel anything magical… you were just starting to piss me off.”

Regina clicked her tongue. “Forgive me for trying to push you beyond your exceptionally low limitations.”

Emma’s nostrils flared, eyes focusing on Regina and mouth opening to retort before the woman paused, considering. “You’re trying to rile me up again,” she accused.

Regina did not deny it. “It seems to be the only option in motivating you.” Emma chose to let herself fall onto her back rather than rise to the bait. She lay beneath the scar where a strong, fruitful branch had once grown. Regina harnessed the tick of anger the memory brought with a flick of her wrist, and the kindling in the pit burst into flame.

The rush of warmth the fire brought with it an extreme relief after hours spent at the mercy of Maine’s deepening autumn. Emma grunted her approval.

“Does it have to be anger?” She asked after several minutes, still staring up through the trees branches toward the sky.

“No,” Regina said. “It tends to be the easiest to draw from, but it’s not necessary.” Emma nodded at her words.

“With the dreamcatcher, I think I was mostly frustrated.” Her eyes drifted closed and Regina waited, watching. In their many brief lessons, Emma had rarely asked questions. If something had finally connected in the woman’s brain, Regina was eager not to inhibit it in any way. “And exhausted and just sort of _done_ with everything fairy tale.” Emma smirked. “Ironic.”

The savior raised an arm perpendicular to her body, straight upwards. Regina’s brows shot up and she focused back on sensing the shifting of metaphysical energies with a long inhale. On the exhale, she sensed Emma Swan’s will coil around that outstretched arm and _lash_ out, manifesting in an arc of white energy.

The sharp _crack_ of snapping wood pierced the chilly afternoon air, followed by the swish of displaced leaves. A foot long section of branch succumbed to gravity and landed in Emma’s outstretched hand, the duo of apples at the end of the wood bouncing and bending it as the woman caught it with wide eyes.

Regina took another slow breath, this time to keep the acute, instinctive spark of rage from spilling forth.

“Uh. Whoops?” Emma said, staring at her prize with wide eyes. “Only meant to grab the one apple.”

“Yet you managed to harm my tree. _Again_.” Emma winced and her stomach grumbled. Regina stood, unnerved. “Did you just use _hunger_ to focus magic?”

“Maybe? I mean, I think so.” She sat up, braced the branch between her ribs and elbow, and pulled an apple free. “Would you be able to put this back on?”

Regina shook her head, stalked to the woman, and snatched the branch from its resting place. She broke off the remaining fruit and tossed the wood into the fire with more force than may have been strictly necessary. Emma blinked at her in unspoken question.

“No,” she said. “All living things resist being manipulated by magic on some level, Miss Swan.” Emma flinched against the formal address. “Stubborn old trees most of all.”

“Ah. Sorry for…” She waved toward the freshly burning branch. Regina sighed, examining the fruit in her hand as an excuse to gather her thoughts. The apple was not quite ripe and would likely be tart. Emma crunched into her stolen fruit without a second thought, and Regina shook her head, trying to figure out how the woman’s mind worked. To be able to create a slicing spell but not make fire…

She needed to change up her strategy. “Now that you proved you can _actually_ do magic, I think I finally have something to work with.” She underhanded the second apple into Emma’s lap. She just looked at Regina with a raised brow, still chewing. “I think you have this…” Regina paused, thinking of the right word. “ _Disconnect_ in the middle.”

Emma swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“You weren’t able to light a fire, but you were able to cast the slicing magic. How? What’s the difference there?”

Emma looked at her blankly. “Like you said, I think I used my hunger to do it?” She looked at the apple in her good hand and shook her head. “I don’t know. I just thought about it and it happened.”

“Exactly. You _wanted_ the apple, but weren’t nearly as invested in making the fire. _That_ is how your will translates into magic, Emma.”

Emma blinked, and Regina thought she could hear the strain of the gears turning in the blonde’s head.

She continued, “So I think we need to focus more on your ability to turn whatever you’re feeling into a focus for a spell completely unrelated to the emotion. Emotions fuel your will which focuses and refines it into your power.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing this whole time?”

Regina killed the fire with a careless sweep of her off hand. “Not exactly.” She sat on the other side of the pit, facing the sheriff. “I started you too quickly, neglected the most basic of all lessons. Emotions have _power_ Emma. Close your eyes.” Bemused, Emma did so. “Now picture something that ‘pisses you off’ as you say.”

“I’m not using anger,” Emma said, voice sharp with the hint of the emotion she wanted to avoid. Regina wanted to argue, to explain how anger was the emotion most easily utilized, but decided to save that battle for a later time and chose the path of least resistance.

“Fine,” she said, tone just as short. She guided Emma along a simple breathing exercise to quiet her mind to a point on the edge of sleep or meditation – a perfect place to be open to suggestion. When the woman’s chest moved in measured breaths, Regina painted a picture.

“Imagine Henry,” she said, grimacing at the situation she had in mind. In place of anger, the next easiest emotion to draw magic from had always been fear. “Walking back from school to meet you at Granny’s. You’re waiting at the end of the block as Henry turns the corner. He raises his arm to wave, which is when you spot my mother appear mere feet behind him.”

Emma’s breaths had quickened, and Regina imagined the woman felt a small adrenaline surge as her eyes popped open, wide but out of focus.

“Use it Emma! Cast!” Without a second’s hesitation, Emma’s good arm whipped forward toward the fire pit. Regina felt the surge of energy, but rather than a spark of flame, Emma produced a spinning cloud of white-gold smoke. Regina watched, dumbfounded, as she recognized the spell.

The smoke cleared, and her panicky, confused son spun in place, shivering and trying to gain his bearings. He wore his P.E clothes, which offered little protection from the cold air. She shrugged off her jacket and stepped to him, wrapping the stiff fabric around his shoulders. It fell past his knees.

She checked him limb by limb, making sure all of him had made the journey, and almost sagged in relief when she found nothing missing. He calmed as he overcame the magical displacement and shifted under her gaze. “What just happened?” His voice cracked in the middle.

“I…I don’t know? Are you okay, Kid?” Emma gathered her jaw off the ground and gained her feet, bumbling her way to Henry to inspect him head to toe as well. “Regina?” She asked without glancing away from their son.

Regina chose her words carefully. Emma should _not_ have been able to teleport Henry. Not without knowing exactly where he was, assuming Henry didn’t resist the magic to begin with.

“Henry, did you feel anything before it happened?” She asked in lieu of explanation.

Her son’s brows furrowed. “Kind of,” he said, snuggling further into the jacket. “Sort of like Emma was calling my name. I turned toward it and…” He frowned. “Hard to explain.” She ran a hand through his hair in an old habit of comfort.

_Henry felt the magic and went along with it,_ Regina thought with a nod. That fact relieved Regina some, but the distance involved and the lack of exact knowledge of where her son was indicated that Emma’s power was potentially… _staggering_.

But the woman couldn’t figure out how to light a damned fire. It was the equivalent of a child being handed an assault rifle and only told ‘good luck.’

“You’re an extremely reactionary caster, Miss Swan.” The blonde’s focus sharpened at Regina’s edged tone. She raised to her full height.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you need to figure out how to separate your emotions from the act you are trying to perform.”

Emma made a frustrated sound. “What happened to ‘emotions are the key to magic, Ms. Swan.’ You’re saying two entirely different things.” Henry’s head bobbed back and forth between them, a mix between enraptured and confused.

Regina decided to halt the argument before it truly gained momentum. “How would you describe my current emotional state?” The sheriff blinked, taken aback. It took her several moments to respond.

“Annoyed, frustrated, bitchy?” She felt a twitch of irritation and cut her eyes to Henry. Emma looked regretful with a brief wince.

“Not what you would describe as positive.” She snapped out an arm, palm up, and called up her will. A purple light encased her palm and seven spectral butterflies burst into the air, each pulsing through every color on the spectrum in a display of chromatic beauty. Both Emma and Henry watched at the magical constructs in awe, following them as they twirled and whirled in the wind.

“A harmless, silly spell fueled by negative emotions,” Regina explained.

“Butterflies by bitchiness,” Emma said with a smirk. Henry coughed to cover something suspiciously similar to a snicker even as he poked at one of the butterflies he had captured in half formed fist. Regina sighed, and waved her hand to disperse the energy. Her conjurations disappeared in brief starbursts of light.

“Essentially.” Regina kept her tone clipped and Emma’s expression sobered. The sheriff moved to stand behind Henry, resting her hands on his shoulders.

“I think I get it now.” Without her joking manor, the woman’s words held the earnest note of genuine thanks, startling Regina.

“What else can you make like that?” Henry asked before Regina could fathom a response.

“Your imagination’s the limit, really.” Regina said. Energy conjuration had never been her forte. It was more a showman’s magic, she thought, but she shook her head and focused. “But theoretical magic exercises can wait. We need to get you back to school.” Henry’s face fell into a dejected pout and Regina had to suppress a nostalgic smile.

“C’mon, Kid. We’ll give you a lift.” Emma started to guide Henry toward the driveway, but Regina stopped them.

“If anyone gives you grief for missing all of ten minutes,” she said, raising both her hands to her son. “Send them my way.” He nodded with an eager grin, expecting what was coming. She matched his smile and added an extra flourish to her hands as her magic surrounded her son in a swirl of violet smoke, bringing him back to school.

“We could have just driven him.” Emma noted wryly.

“I didn’t want him to miss the rest of P.E. He could use the socialization.” _With children that will actually age with him._ She did not voice the words, but knew Emma had thought something similar by the look on her face. Regina crushed the familiar bit of guilt and was grateful Emma did not bring up the elephant standing off to the side.

“I’m sure the oversized women’s coat will totally help.” The acute chill of autumn air biting through the thin material of Regina’s shirt caused her to shiver.

“Ah…” She had forgotten to take back the jacket.

Emma shrugged. “Kid’s a storyteller, he’ll spin it.” Regina nodded, rekindling the fire with an absent gesture. The warmth flickered against her skin in a welcome embrace.

“More lessons?” Emma groaned, leaning against Regina’s tree.

“I think we’re both done with that for the day,” the former queen said, shaking her head. Emma’s entire demeanor brightened,

“Great! Want to head to Granny’s?” Regina raised a prim eyebrow, casting a furtive glance toward the fire pit, where Emma’s discarded apple cores burned. The blonde shrugged. “It’s something to do, at least.”

Regina could not fault her that reasoning. A quick glance toward the sun told her it was only approaching midafternoon. On a typical day, she would be in the middle of a meeting, going over the town budget, or any number of the annoyingly consistent duties she had not ever expected she would miss. The last time she could recall having so few responsibilities were before Leopold had absconded her into marriage.

It left her stir crazy with the constant, nagging thought that she had forgotten to do something important.

“There are other places to eat, you know.” She headed back toward her home, Emma trailing a half step behind.

“What? Monty’s Crab Shack?” She paused for a moment. “I think Anton may have crushed it.”

“You’ve been sheriff for months and you haven’t paid attention to downtown?” She heard Emma’s leather jacket move in a shrug. Regina rolled her eyes, slipping into the house to the welcome greeting of central heating.

The chime of her doorbell shrilled through the air, repeating itself several times over. Frowning, Regina strode through the familiar rooms with practiced ease. She reached for the door to pull it open, but Emma’s hand snapped onto the brass handle, giving Regina a sideways look of reproach. Regina tried to stare the woman down, but Emma remained unmoved.

With an agitated sigh, Regina stepped back and waved the sheriff forward. The blonde did not open the door until Regina stood around a corner, just out of sight. This had been a constant point of contention between them, but Emma was adamant, citing the angry mob that happily formed outside her door just weeks previously.

It made sense to deter any would-be assaulters attempting to use surprise to strike quickly. It still did not sit well with Regina, but arguing the point with the sheriff had grown more aggravating than simply humoring the woman’s request.

“Oh, Sheriff!” Princess Abigail’s refined voice filled the foyer. “I didn’t expect you. Is your recovery coming along well?”

“Slowly,” Emma said, the hint of her typical whine at the edge of her tone. “How’ve you been…?” Emma trailed off to an awkward pause.

“Kathryn is still fine, Sheriff.” The woman seemed unperturbed by Emma’s faux pas. “It’s a bit awkward, isn’t it?” Kathryn laughed, light and friendly. “I prefer Kathryn to Abigail, I think. Frederick was ecstatic he doesn’t have to go by ‘Jim’ anymore. Everyone’s got a preference, and it seems they’re all different.”

Emma made an agreeable noise. “Hard to keep up.”

“Exactly.” A touch of concerned entered the former princess’ voice. “Is Regina here? I needed to speak with her.”

“What about?”

If Kathryn was annoyed at the runaround, her voice did not betray it. “The town meeting tonight. It’s actually good you’re here, Sheriff. You both will need to be there.”

“And why is that?” Regina moved around the corner into view. Kathryn’s eyebrows flicked up in a brief indication of surprise before the woman rolled with it and schooled her features. Emma pulled back from the door and let the woman step inside. Kathryn slipped off her sky-blue gloves but left her argent calf-coat – cinched with a belt the same color of the gloves – on.

She skipped the greeting, eyes flicking back and forth between Regina and the sheriff. Regina could see an abundance of thoughts at play in the woman’s mind. “The last few weeks there’s been a group meeting. Covertly.” She wrung her pale hands together. “Frederick and I’ve only been invited to the last few, and it’s… _concerning_.”

Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose, muttering. “There’s always something.”

Regina ignored the sheriff. “And what worries you enough that you’d come to me?” Regina had not spoken to the woman since the curse broke, and could not get a read on her disposition.

“It’s the royals. Midas is gathering nearly everyone with a speck of noble blood together, trying to pool resources.”

Regina’s lip curled. That man had always been an opportunistic, brownnosing, snake, but he was still cunning and resourceful enough to pose a threat. His wealth and openhandedness kept him in power in the Enchanted Forest, and if his ability had resurfaced following the curse, he could prove dangerous.

“Like, Midas with the golden touch?” Emma asked.

“The one and same,” Kathryn confirmed.

“Should I be on the lookout for Medusa, too?” Emma spoke drily. “Keep an ear to the ground for anyone picking up the habit of building mazes?”

“Dead and not in the Enchanted Forest when I cast the curse,” Regina answered, still eyeing Kathryn. “People aren’t considering following that blowhard?”

“He has people backing him. Mitchell Herman for starters, and there’s a rumor that he has Albert Spencer in his corner as well.”

“A wanted murderer?” Emma transformed from vaguely annoyed to full alert and angry. “If he’s harboring that asshole we need reasonable cause. Tell me you have something better than a rumor.”

Kathryn shook her head with an apologetic smile.

“George is too smart to leave himself open like that,” Regina said. Her right hand opened and closed on reflex as she considered the situation. Three former kings joining forces and attempting to gather support from the former nobility. All three were not lacking in the pride department, and Regina doubted there was enough power to be won in Storybrooke to be split among them.

Which meant there was a larger game at work here, and they possessed too little information.

Emma paced back and forth all of three steps each way with her ‘thinking’ face, brows furrowed as she glared at the ground, in place. During the first few days of her recovery, Swan had peppered with Regina with question after question regarding the time she missed while trapped in the Enchanted Forest, and became livid upon finding out a murderer – who tried to frame one of her closer friends for the crime, no less – walked free.

Apparently Charming had not been as forthcoming in his debrief.

“Have they given away anything about their endgame?” Regina asked Kathryn as the woman watched Emma with a mix of confusion and fascination.

“Nothing concrete.” Kathryn focused her attention back on Regina, a spark of worry in her eyes. “But all signs point to a coup, of sorts.”

“Bringing us to the town meeting.” Regina sighed.

“Emergency referendum?” Emma stopped boring a groove into the floor, green eyes crystalizing to attention. Regina nodded, reaching the same conclusion. “Which one of them gets to play mayor, then? They were all kings, right?”

“The council,” Kathryn suggested with a shrug. “They haven’t given anything away, but Frederick and I figure they want to get rid of your influence altogether, Regina.” Regina let out a dry laugh. Regina felt no shame in the five members of the town council being her yes-men. For twenty-eight years, the quintet had never had to make a decision, and watching the town government stagnate under their leadership without her gave Regina a sense of smug gratification.

Especially after they had wasted little time in ousting her following the curse breaking.

“Using new laws to swing the old guard back into power,” Regina said. She could always enjoy a taste of irony.

“But why?” Emma asked. “Storybrooke is tiny compared to the Enchanted Forest. There’s only so much influence you can have.”

“Power is power,” Kathryn said with a tiny shrug and short lived smile.

“Why bring it to us at all?” Emma asked, eyes narrowing on the other blonde. “You have nothing to gain by talking.”

Kathryn’s expression took on a fierce edge. “Not everyone in town is eager to go back to the old ways, Sheriff.” The woman eyed Emma for a moment longer before looking back toward Regina, gaze softening. “Some of us can see the _good_ that the curse brought, intentional or not.” Kathryn bowed her head in a slight nod, almost as if in thanks.

An odd, uncomfortable cocktail of emotions passed through Regina’s mind, none taking root long enough to identify.

“If they are going to attempt an emergency vote, I think your name needs to be in the hat, Regina.” Kathryn concluded and laid a brief hand on Regina’s shoulder, squeezing.

Regina stood, stunned and unable to verbalize a reply. Kathryn did not linger, seeming to understand, and spoke a quick goodbye to the pair of them before taking her leave. Regina stared at the doorway for long, quiet moments after Kathryn’s departure, at a loss.

The idea that anyone would _choose_ to put her in power was absolutely, utterly, foreign to Regina.

Beside her, Emma let out a frustrated sigh. “Have I mentioned how glad I am the curse breaking didn’t change you? This is starting to get ridiculous.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Regina was left speechless.

\---

“Quite a crowd.” Charming’s comment, as usual, pointed out the obvious. They stood just inside the entrance, off to the side and behind the gathering townspeople.

Hundreds of Storybrooke’s residents filed into Town Hall’s largest conference room, filling it to the brim and then some. At Emma’s insistence, they had arrived at the hall far earlier than necessary, finding Charming – sheriff’s badge on proud display around his neck due to Emma’s medical leave – overseeing the arriving townsfolk with Snow at his side.

Regina noted the duo’s usual entourage – dwarves, fairies, and the old werewolf – all sat toward the rear, just feet away, creating a solid block of their old powerbase.

“It’s the first one since right after the curse broke, right?” Henry asked from the aisle seat on the rearmost row, glancing up from his book with his curious eyes sweeping over the auditorium before them. Regina felt gladdened he had moved on to reading typical fiction rather than _the_ storybook. “There’s more people here than I’ve ever seen before at one of these things.”

“People can sense the tension in the air,” Snow said, running a hand through Henry’s hair in an absentmindedly affectionate manner. The sight of it sent an instinctive shiver of disgust through Regina’s core, but she repressed the urge to smack the woman’s hand away, turning her attention to the gathering crowd.

And the five traitors sitting at the collapsible table on the raised dais at the head of the room. With row upon row of seats arranged in an arc surrounding the platform, and only a single podium separating them from the agitated townsfolk, the setup aptly made the council seem on trial.

Each member was gazing out of the ever-filling room with wide, fearful eyes. Regina smirked and did not bother to hide it. The monthly town meetings of the past decades only ever drew the attention of the same several dozen citizens. To be the object of scrutiny for hundreds had to be frightful for them.

“It’s more than that,” Emma spoke from beside her. The space between the sheriff’s eyebrows wrinkled as she thought. “They think something’s going to go down.” Snow and Charming wore matching stone-faced expressions. Regina hummed under her breath.

Had those two been involved in Midas’ clandestine meetings as well? She could not be sure Kathryn would have brought up that fact or deliberately hid it away. Leather crinkled as she tightened her fists. The instinctual sense of something being _off_ set her on edge.

As the trickle of people entering the hall slowed, the group she had been waiting to spot strode through the double doors, heads held high and eyes forward.

Mitchell Herman led the procession, his son following a step behind with baby Alexandra in one arm and wife Cinderella on the other. Kathryn and Frederick followed just behind Moe French, arm in arm, and neither betrayed a glance in their direction. A selection of dukes and lower nobles Regina knew by sight but not name came after, and Midas brought up the rear.

He broke the pattern of stoic silence, catching sight of Regina and _smirking_ at her in a way he never would have thought to dare to in the past. Regina met the expression with a single eyebrow raised in challenge, but the man did not balk. He followed his flock to the front row of seats, a swagger in his step the entire way.

Regina held no doubt there was someone behind the scenes, guiding the self-proclaimed golden king.

“That’s Midas? The jackass banker?” Emma asked, looking at Regina in vague disapproval. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Regina bristled. “I did not choose _everyone’s_ role, Sheriff.” Emma shrugged as the town clerk, Krzyszkowski, struck a gavel three times, and the meeting began.

The quiet whine of the doors opening once again stole Regina’s attention away from the opening remarks. Rumplestiltskin walked in, dressed for winter with his heavy duty overcoat, scarf, gloves, and boots. Black on black with the exception of an aged burlap shawl he wore over his shoulders.

Her gaze honed in on the cane he held in a loose grip and the full to bursting messenger bag hung at his side.

Belle slipped in behind him, dressed considerably lighter and without so much as a purse.

“Good evening,” he greeted with a tight smile, striding over to them and resting on the cane he did not need.

“Gold.” Emma welcomed with a sour look. A quick glance told Regina that everyone in their entourage were looking to the newcomers rather than Krzyszkowski as he drawled out the meeting’s minutes. “Belle,” Emma added in a brighter tone.

“Didn’t picture you having an interest in small town politics, Gold.” Charming spoke with his arms crossed, jaw raised in challenge. Regina shook her head at the display and Rumple’s grin turned menacing for the barest of moments, dismissing the prince as a threat.

“He isn’t,” Belle said, glancing over the crowd. “But _I_ am. It’s fascinating.” The smile that played upon the woman’s lips struck Regina as genuine. “This has been building up for weeks after the attack.”

“And while Belle gets her fill of Storybrooke’s little dramas…” Belle wrinkled her nose at him in false annoyance. Rumple’s smile turned genuine. “I am here to collect on a favor.” His gaze landed on Emma, expression morphing back to cold.

Regina’s stomach dropped. “Now?” Emma asked with a glance toward the proceedings. The clerk had ceded the floor to the council.

“I am in need of your skills, and what better time to fulfill your end of the bargain when you aren’t obligated to your duties as sheriff?” Rumple nodded toward Emma’s immobilized arm. “Unless you mean to break a deal with the Dark One?” Regina recognized the tone the man used and her magic surged to just beneath the surface of its own volition, ready to be called at a moment’s notice.

Rumple’s eyes flicked to her for a split second, acknowledging and dismissing her all at once. She clenched her teeth, noting that both Snow and Charming had taken a step closer to their daughter while everyone in the nearby seats turned to focus on the newfound threat. Leroy stood, expression hard and threatening, and Regina spotted the werewolf’s crossbow resting in the old woman’s relaxed grip.

Regina did not dwell on how odd it was not to be the focus of their aggression.

Belle placed a gentle hand on Rumple’s arm, but none of the tension dissipated.

Behind them all, the meeting went on as if a battle between two of Storybrooke’s heavy hitters was not about to break out.

“And if I want to postpone you cashing in your I-O-U?” The sheriff asked, challenging.

“Then I say too bad.” Rumple and Emma stared each other down, neither giving ground.

“Emma,” Snow spoke, not taking her eyes off the Dark One and taking another half step closer to her daughter. “It may be best to get this over with. It’s not wise to be in the Dark One’s debt.” Snow looked as if she swallowed bile.

“A mother’s wisdom,” Rumple said with a smile. “You should heed it, Miss Swan.” Emma glared at the pair of them, took a quick glance around, and sighed, nodding. The pressure eased out of the atmosphere.

“What do you want?” Emma asked, petulant.

“You’ve spoken before of your remarkable ability at finding people. I aim to put it to use.” He tapped his cane against the ground with an air of finality. “We’ve a long drive ahead of us, I suggest you say your goodbyes.”

“And how do you plan on getting by the town line?” Charming asked, cheeks tinged red in impotent anger.

Rumple’s brows raised, amused. “Don’t doubt I have my ways, Shepherd.” Belle squeezed his arm with a disapproving frown and Rumple let the sarcasm drain from his tone. “I assure you my memories will be safely intact.” He offered no further explanation.

“Where will we even be going?”

“All in due time, Sheriff.” He turned, drew Belle into a quick, chaste kiss, and made his way back toward the exit. He paused at the threshold, as if considering. “And consider this part of the deal, Sheriff. Bring Henry.” Regina’s nerves froze to ice. “I feel his genuine heart may be of use.”

“No,” Regina said immediately, but the Dark One had already pushed through the doors. She turned to Emma and repeated the refusal.

“Of course not,” Emma agreed. “He’s insane if he thinks I’m bringing Henry anywhere without knowing exactly where we’re going and _why_.”

“Rumple wouldn’t do anything to put Henry in danger. He’s quite fond of him.” Belle spoke with the complete surety of absolute trust. It meant nothing to Regina.

“Excuse me if your delusional image of Rumplestiltskin doesn’t fill me with confidence.” A gaze of blue fire turned on Regina and the woman actually took a step toward her. Regina took one of her own.

“Enough,” Snow’s tone brooked no arguments and Belle obeyed almost out of instinct, backing down. Regina only stopped due to Emma’s hand on her forearm. “As much as I hate this, I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

“Like hell we don’t.” Emma stared at her mother, incredulous.

“You don’t know him like we do, Emma.” Snow closed her eyes and Charming laid both hands on her shoulders in support. Regina could not even drum up the usual disgust at simple display of affection.

“He does not respond well to broken deals,” the man said, eyes trailing over the gathered townsfolk. “And there are so many people here…” Emma’s eyes widened at the implication.

“Rumple would _never_ …” Belle trailed off, red with enough anger that it stole her words. Regina did not waste her breath correcting the woman.

Emma looked to Regina, looking for support.

“I’ll go!” Henry said from behind her. She turned, finding her son staring at all of them with his wide, genuine eyes. He spoke in a rush. “It’s to find his son, right?” He asked Belle, who covered her anger with a tight smile and nod. “Then I’ll definitely help!” His earnest declaration warmed her heart.

She reached out and rested a hand against his cheek. He showed no hesitation in offering his assistance.

Her little hero.

She released him as he blushed and squirmed. “Regina?” Emma’s concerned voice drew her attention. The blonde left the question unspoken, and Regina considered. As much as she wished she could be confident their combined abilities could stop Rumple if he released the full extent of the Dark One’s power, she could not be sure.

And there would doubtlessly be casualties no matter the outcome.

She sighed and nodded. Emma grimaced and Regina knew the woman had hoped for the opposite answer. A quick round of farewells followed and Regina held her son close, extracting a promise from him to be as careful as he could possibly be. Moments later, he bounded after the Dark One, the smile all young people wore on the cusp of adventure lighting his features.

“I’ll take care of the kid, Regina,” Emma said in earnest. She almost reached a hand out to Regina, but hesitated halfway there, dropping it back to her side. Regina wished she could take comfort in the gesture, but Emma was far too inexperienced with dealing with Rumple for the former queen to feel confident. She appreciated Emma trying, though, and offered the woman a small nod and smile as she left.

“I hate this,” Snow said after the doors closed on Emma. Charming nodded his agreement, absently rubbing his wife’s arms. Regina ignored the cold echo of loneliness the sight created. Beside her, Belle focused her attention back toward the front of the hall. Her cheeks were still tinged with color, giving away her internalized anger. Regina forced herself to tune all three of her remaining companions out and turned to the dais more for distraction than any legitimate interest.

Midas had gained the floor, pacing back and forth in front of the council table, a microphone in his gloved hand. Regina idly wondered if the gloves were just for show or if the man’s powers had truly returned.

“—prepared to handle any threat. Internal or external. Magical or mundane!” He spoke, making wild gestures with his free hand with each phrase. “It is clear that the current administration is not capable of doing so, and so we must do our duty as concerned citizens of both Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest and rise up; take back our town; take back our lives!”

A general murmur of agreement rolled through a large section of the crowd. Not as enthusiastic as Midas, but receptive to his ideas. Midas grinned, teeth gleaming white, and Regina suspected he knew exactly how to work the crowd toward his goals.

“We have no mayor, we have no judicial authority. We are left with just five incompetent individuals that have been nothing more than patsies for the Evil Queen!” Regina’s lip curled at the moniker. “The police force refuses to bring her to justice as well.” His eyes scanned toward the back of the room and Regina met his gaze with a steady calm despite the chill that filled her at the words and the crowd’s outcry of agreement.

She was acutely aware of how possible it was her only ally had just been called away.

Midas grinned and broke the stare down. “But I am glad to say I have your solution. My colleagues and I have poured over the town charter with exhaustive effort and have found our salvation.” He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a folded sheet of paper. “Article one nine eight two subsection eight,” he read. Regina could not stop her eyes widening in surprise. It was one of the final passages in the charter, buried deep. The charter itself was not easily accessed by the public, and few individuals would know it will enough to know that loophole.

It looked like Kathryn’s rumors were right. Albert Spencer was behind this power play.

“I won’t bore you with the details, but it boils down to this: In times of great crisis and turmoil, a caucus can be called during Storybrooke’s monthly open forum.” Midas turned and _slammed_ the photocopied section of legalese onto the council’s table. All five members looked to the man, stoic and mute. “I move for an immediate vote of no confidence in our current council, and for general elections to be held for all open governmental positions!”

The crowd’s murmuring grew to a steady din as a wave of excited anticipation waved over the audience.

“So that’s their play,” Snow whispered, words almost lost to the myriad of conversations around them. Regina was taken aback and studied the Charmings. Neither of them seemed surprised by the turn of events.

“You expected this,” Belle said, her shrewd eyes studying the pair as well. Regina took the tiniest amount of comfort that she was not the only one to find out at the last minute.

“Something like it,” Charming admitted. “But we’re prepared.”

“I’m just surprised they’re bothering to try it legally.” Snow frowned. “Do they need to be in a position of authority, though?”

“The charter’s vague on details. Using words like ‘community leader’ rather than anything official.” Belle explained. Surprised that she was privy to the information, Regina looked to the librarian in askance, but Belle seemed content to ignore her, irking the former queen.

“Order, everyone! Order!” Krzyszkowski had gotten the microphone, but the shrill feedback over the speakers did more to quiet the crowd than his request. The balding clerk continued, red-faced and sweating. “The process for this is fairly simple, er…” He consulted a pocket notebook, flipping through the pages. “Simple majority wins. Everyone not here automatically abstains. The rest of us, well…” He scratched at his head. “We just stand in groups declaring our support?”

Regina sighed at the man’s incompetence.

“Right, well.” He continued. “All those in favor of an emergency election to the left, opposed to the right. Abstaining in the center!”

“This seems really…informal,” Charming said with a frown.

“It’s meant to be done quickly.” Regina watched the people dance around each other, the vast majority moved toward the left. She spotted her council’s reactions fall on the side of relief and she wondered if they had been a part of this movement as well.

Midas bounded back up onto the stage, yanking the microphone from the clerk, who seemed more than happy to move out of the center of attention.

“And the wisdom of our citizenry wins out.” Midas laughed as he spoke. “Procedures tell us the special election will happen in a week’s time.” He let the words sink in. “And I don’t think it will be a surprise to any of you that I put myself forward for the position of mayor!” Midas beamed, but was met with only muted applause.

“Why would we choose you?” Regina blinked in surprise as the Woodcutter separated himself from the crowd, an incredulous look on his face. “You swore featly to the Queen back in our land. How would you be any different?”

For the first time Midas’ jubilant façade faltered as the majority of the gathered folk voiced their agreement to Tillman’s words.

Mitchell Herman stepped up to the dais, taking the mic from his ally. “I know there is quite a bit of resentment and mistrust we will have to work through, but I remind you all that this is an _open_ election.” He paused, considering the crowd before him. “I will personally be seeking one of the five council positions. I encourage any of you who wish to represent your people to do the same.”

Dozens of conversations broke out as people took in the former king’s words, and Regina spotted more than one group forming around individuals. It always amazed her how quickly a person could decide their loyalties.

“Is there anyone else who wishes to declare for the mayoral election?” Krzyszkowski’s voice filtered over the sound system and a hush fell over the gathered masses. For all their blunder, Regina smirked at the lack of boldness.

Nobody wanted to move first.

Beside her, Snow took a deep, steadying breath and squared her shoulders. With her head held high, the queen-turned-schoolteacher strode down the path between the separated throngs of her former subjects. The dwarves cheered loudly, some folks joining them, while most remained quiet, considering.

Worryingly, Midas wore the slightest of smiles. Regina narrowed her eyes as Snow made it to the platform and gave a brief speech about hope or family or any one of her other typical platitudes that Regina did not pay attention to. The entire time the woman was speaking, Midas and Herman whispered to each other, every so often glancing to Snow or Charming.

They had been prepared for this.

A much warmer round of applause greeted the end of Snow’s words and the woman beamed, smile wide and genuine. Midas and Herman made a show of clapping politely along with the crowd.

When Kathryn stood, however, both men could not hide their surprise. Midas grabbed the woman’s arm as she climbed onto the dais, whispering something to her, but Kathryn tugged free with a quick reply that had to have been biting, as Midas’ jaw hung loose while Kathryn gathered the microphone from Snow.

“I know this will not be popular.” Kathryn began with a self-deprecating smile. “But I want to preface this by asking a question to you all: How has your quality of life changed between your time in the Enchanted Forest and now here in Storybrooke?” Kathryn trailed off, letting the audience marinate in her question for a moment.

Kathryn moved to speak once again, placing her free hand over her heart. “I, for one, have never been happier.” She cast a loving look toward Frederick, who returned it with equal fervor. Would-be friend or no, Regina could not stop the tick of irritation at seeing the couple lost in their mutual affection. “I can’t argue that _how_ we got here is less than ideal.” Regina’s shook her head in amusement at the understatement. “But, in the end, I don’t really think that matters. We are here now, leading better lives, and we have one person to thank for that.”

Regina braced herself for the fallout.

“I propose that Regina Mills resume her role as mayor.”

Regina supposed that the dead silence that followed Kathryn’s proclamation was better than the alternative. Pasting on a vaguely haughty expression, Regina followed the same path as Snow.

The rush of exhilaration she felt as every eye followed her steps left little doubt in Regina’s mind that she _wanted_ this. Taking in Midas’ restrained anger and Snow’s grim annoyance, Regina grinned and shelved her other concerns to be worried over later, embracing an old, bubbling excitement she had not felt in some time.

She had a fight to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things I am sure Regina will always enjoy: A challenge and annoying Snow White in any way she can.
> 
> In any case, here we have canon events and those of my own creation correlating with each other. Rumple calls on Emma's favor at a much more inconvenient time, and he is the one to demand Henry's presence this time around. What could be his reasoning, I wonder?
> 
> The Albert Spencer storyline was rather unceremoniously dropped on the show, and tied off in a neat bow off screen through a few tweets from the writers. I find him an intriguing villain whose potential for conflict both with Charming and overall was never fully explored. Here he is very much a power behind the scenes, even if he is not terribly subtle about it.
> 
> This chapter also made me realize just how few royals are actually in Storybrooke. I know the idea of the general citizenry embracing their new lives over their Enchanted Forest selves has been done, but I want to explore the thought that people are truly split on that fact. It'll be an ever-present issue lurking in the background in this arc.
> 
> Before I go on and on, I'll cut this off here with the teaser that next chapter's PoV will be Cora!
> 
> Until next time, read well my friends!
> 
> (Sidenote that I just remembered to ask. Do you guys prefer Rumple or Rumpel in terms of spelling? OUAT spells his full name with Rumple rather than the traditional Rumpel, which is why I've been using that. Wanted to get a consensus, though, so please let me know!)


	7. Cora I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one certainly turned into an interesting one, in my opinion. It was originally meant to be much, much shorter than it turned out to be, but both the first and last scenes bloomed to give this chapter a healthy amount of meat to it. I won't say much else here and let you get right down to it. See you at the end note!
> 
> (Edited and updated as of 11/8/2015)

Cora stood an inch beyond the property line, eyes closed and senses attuned to the world around her. Dusk settled on the sleepy little town, and only the buzzing, chirping, and shuffling of the nocturnal creatures waking broke the calm that came with it. Most of the residents had scampered on toward their little community gathering, leaving the nearby group of homesteads abandoned.

She opened her eyes and observed her daughter’s home with physical sight. It was the largest she had seen since arriving in this new land, but it paled in comparison to the mighty castle Regina had previously called home. Still, she could recognize how well maintained the area was, and Regina’s apple tree standing proud on display spoke volumes to her daughter’s attachment to the manse.

Yet Cora could not sense the presence of a ward, curse, or an active magic of any kind.

She hesitated for a long moment before stepping over the unseen line marking Regina’s domain, bracing herself for a trap to be sprung. As nothing lashed out at her, Cora smiled and grew confident Regina had not discovered a magic more subtle than Cora could detect. Still, she crossed the property with slow, deliberate strides, alert for the possibility of more mundane defenses.

She made it to the porch unmolested, and a brief flick of her wrist granted her access to her daughter’s home without a modicum of difficulty.

Cora debated whether this pointed to Regina’s overconfidence, or if her daughter _wanted_ Cora there. The complete lack of any level of reasonable defense may as well have been a welcoming party escorting Cora as an honored guest. Not one to ignore such an open invitation, Cora moved to explore her daughter’s home.

A quick series of stairs led up to the main foyer. The room was warm and airy with little furnishing outside of several small tables lined with bundles of flowers and small trinkets of no obvious value. Light, wooden flooring and beige walls left the room bright despite the waning sunlight. Doorways opened on the opposite wall and to her left, while a stairway began on her right, taking a slow spiral into the upper level.

With the basic, uninspired artwork on the walls, the entire atmosphere struck Cora as nothing more than generic. Hardly befitting of a queen.

She moved further into the house, pleased when traces of her daughter’s personality began to shine through. In an intimate sitting room, beige gave way to black and white done in the motif of a forest. Black furniture, leather and sturdy, surrounded a wide fireplace that was topped with a white marble horse, prancing.

Cora clicked her tongue at the display, sorry to see Regina’s unbecoming fascination with the beasts had resurfaced.

Her tour lost its character once again as she went from room to room. It was not until ascended to the second level and located Regina’s chambers that she found the human touch once again.

The room held the same colors as the house’s foyer, but the overstuffed furniture and large windows letting in the twilight glow of late evening gave the area an aura of invitation. What drew her attention were two frames upon the small table beside Regina’s bed.

Curious, she navigated around the furniture – passing by a metal grate with warm air coming out of it, of all things – and picked up the first. It proved to be a portrait of Henry. The artist had captured all of her husband’s bumbling, dutiful loyalty in their strokes, creating a masterful rendition of the man in his older years.

With an amused shake of her head, she set down the portrait and picked up the second frame. Rather than another painting, she found a photograph the people of this realm seemed so fond of for their preference in artwork.

A young boy, no older than six or seven at most, sat in Regina’s lap with a wide smile that was missing several teeth. His eyes were bright with mirth, glancing up at Regina, who bore such a bright and radiant smile as she hugged the boy close that it gave Cora pause. She could hardly believe she was looking at her daughter.

She did not know how long she stood staring at the photograph, but she only snapped out of her reverie at the sound of the mansion’s front door slamming shut. Frowning, she placed down the photograph, face down.

The removal of one’s heart came at several hefty prices. The risk of another’s total control was one, should they thrust their will upon it, but she had taken measures to prevent such a situation years ago. The complete and utter inability to experience deep emotions was the more unavoidable one. Cora never regretted removing her own heart, often able to cope with the fallout in terms of the benefits it brought her, but at the moment she could not clarify the echoes of feelings long forgotten that passed through her.

For some reason, it left her unsettled and off balance.

When the click-clack of footsteps climbing up the stairs reached her, Cora pushed the discomfort away and focused on the task at hand. She sat at the edge of her daughter’s bed, and adopted her most neutral expression.

She repressed the urge to scowl at hearing her daughter talking to herself. “…have a chance in hell. It’s insane—” Regina cut off her own words as she stepped into the room, and Cora savored each and every expression that crossed her daughter’s face.

Shock, fear, anger, panic, determination, and a touch of wistfulness all blazed through Regina’s eyes in the moment before she locked down her expression to a neutral frown. “Hello Mother,” she said, her words brusque.

Cora remained silent, enjoying the moments she had to study what her daughter had become. The coal-black pants and suit jacket inspired memories of Regina’s preference for masculine riding clothing in her youth, but Cora could forgive her daughter’s fashion indulgence for the simple poise with which the woman stood.

Back straight, feet squared at shoulder width, hands held loose and ready at her sides, and eyes that watched Cora without flinching.

At least on the surface, Cora could find no trace of the insecure, indecisive, and fearful girl that had pushed her through the mirror all those years ago. Cora had observed Regina for weeks at a distance and by way of scrying, but in her physical presence Cora now understood how some could look to her daughter and think “Queen.”

She let herself smile. “Regina.” She returned the greeting, moving to stand. Regina’s right hand twitched in her direction, and Cora’s grin broadened. Content to let her daughter engage the conversation, she looked out the window and watched as a bright and full moon began its ascending arc in the foreign sky

The stars were different here.

“What are—“

“I do enjoy the home you’ve built yourself here.” Cora spoke softly, but her daughter still stopped short the moment Cora moved to speak. “I see some of your troubling habits shining through here and there, but…” She faced her daughter. “Overall it is a _fantastic_ piece of magic. I am sure your father would be proud to see what his sacrifice wrought.”

Regina blanched, staggered as if Cora’s words had been a physical blow. Cora sighed in disappointment at the simple means of cracking her daughter’s armor. She still had work to do, it seemed.

“What are you doing here, Mother?” Regina regained her composure after a pregnant pause, though her pallor did not improve. Cora adopted a surprised expression, peppering a hint of condescension into her voice.

“To help you of course.” Cora grasped her hands in front of her in an imploring gesture. “You were so _close_ to your happy ending, dear. Let me help you reclaim what you’ve lost.”

“There’s no going back.” Regina spoke the words with absolute conviction, crossing her arms and backing away from the threshold. She retreated back toward the stairway and Cora was forced to follow.

“That may be true,” Cora agreed. “But that does not mean there are no other options.” Regina cast a curious look over her shoulder as they descended the stairs, her interest piqued. Cora offered her gentlest smile. “You need only tell me what it is you actually want, and we can make it yours.”

“Henry,” Regina said without hesitation, facing front once more. Her daughter led them to the sitting room with the horrible equine mantelpiece.

“The boy,” Cora said, nodding.

“My _son_.” Regina spoke with conviction and vehemence. The photograph on her daughter’s bedside table flashed through her mind.

She pushed it away. “That you share with the other woman.” Regina’s expression morphed through several expressions before settling on a vague grimace.

“Not by choice,” she said curtly. She gestured an open hand toward a set crystal decanters, glasses, and powder-filled jars displayed on a small table between a sofa and a bookshelf full to bursting. “Cider?”

“You know how I feel about vices, dear.” Cora let the practiced note of maternal disapproval enter her voice. It did not stop Regina from pouring a glass of the honey-colored liquid or fidgeting with nearly every piece of crystal in the set as she did so.

“You want to be rid of Emma Swan.” Cora ventured to guess with a touch of relief. “Have your son as solely yours.”

“I…” Regina paused, took a sip of her drink and spoke once again. “It’s complicated.” Her daughter perched herself on the arm of the sofa, drink held loosely in on one thigh.

“I fail to see how.” Cora took a step closer to her daughter. “She is an obstacle to your goal, and not even the most offending. Tell me how much it stings that your son lives not with you, but your greatest enemy. Does he enjoy Snow White’s hospitality?”

Regina said nothing, but her knuckles paled to white as she gripped the glass and brought it back to her lips. Cora caught the subtle shake in the hand as well, though Regina tried to hide it.

“I want to _help_ you, Regina.” She repeated the statement and took another step closer. “But I need to understand why you have not already dispatched your foes yourself? None could stand against you.”

Regina let out a harsh laugh and drew from her glass again. Cora frowned at the display. “So after I kill Snow and Charming, then what would I do?” She wore an ugly smile. “The people would riot and come after me, and Henry would _hate_ me. I’d have to leave town without my son.” She shook her head. “There would be nothing left for me.”

“And if you could be blameless in the act? What could you accomplish then?”

“Impossible,” Regina said without hesitation, but she cast her gaze down, considering. “Even for you.” An unspoken question tinged the end of her statement.

“Would I tease you with such an idea if it were? Do not assume to understand my plans, dear.” She spoke the rebuke gently, yet Regina still flinched away as Cora took another step forward, now within an arm’s reach of her daughter.

“How?” Regina’s question came out a whisper and the girl reached over to place her half-empty drink down, fingers tracing the glass’ rim. Cora rested a hand on Regina’s shoulder and the girl leaned into the touch. Cora allowed a smile, knowing she had won.

“Of all the people and objects your curse brought to this land, there is one that is far more powerful than any other.”

Regina’s eyes snapped up, wide, and her words came out with clear disbelief. “The Dark One’s dagger? You know where it is?”

“The captain is securing our path to the dagger as we speak,” Cora confirmed. She glanced toward the grandfather clock in the corner. Hook should have subdued the librarian by now.

“But you haven’t discovered its location.” Regina sank back into herself, pulling another of the crystal trinkets to fidget with.

“Soon enough.” Cora spoke the words as the truth they were. “And once we have control of Rumplestiltskin, it would only take a few words. Snow White, Prince Charming, Emma Swan. They and anyone else you wish will lay dead with no blame to lie at your feet.” She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “And your son will be yours.”

Regina closed her eyes for long moments, every fiber of her being tensing as she struggled in internal debate.

“Henry loves them…” Her words were little better than inaudible.

“Wha--?” Before the first syllable formed on Cora’s tongue, Regina thrust her arm up and released a glimmering purple powder from her crystal jar.

Cora shield came up as instinct more than intentional thought, but Regina was too close and Cora had not been prepared for betrayal. She stumbled back, tripping over furniture as she scrambled away from her daughter, barely able to keep her feet beneath her. After a heartbeat, the magic holding her shield in place flickered and threatened to crumble, and Cora knew what Regina had done.

“ _Fairy dust_!?” Incredulous, Cora stood to her full height and faced her daughter. That she could move at all told her she had avoided the brunt of the assault, but she could feel her limbs stiffening and it became harder to focus on her gathered energies. “You used fairy dust.” She repeated, unable to fully fathom it. “Shameful, Regina.”

Regina stood, wide eyed and slack jawed as if she, too, could not believe what she had done. Her chest heaved in adrenaline-fueled breaths, and she held her arm out, magic brimming beneath the surface, but the threat she intended lost its punch with how much the limb shook.

Cora held little doubt that given a fair exchange, she would _crush_ her daughter.

Her shield failed in a ripple of fading light, but Regina did not pounce on the opportunity to strike. _Still weak_. Cora did not know a word that could describe her disappointment.

“You _will_ see the light, Regina. And I may even be forgiving enough to offer you another chance.” She curled her lip in a sneer. “Enjoy dancing to the whims of Henry’s _mother_ in the meantime.” Cora drew up her frustration and rage in the last bit of her focus to force out a teleportation spell.

As the violet smoke rose to surround her, she spied Regina crumpling in on herself, arms hugging her middle as had been her habit as a frightened little girl.

\---

She rematerialized in the sparse shelter she had constructed deep within Storybrooke’s woods –little more than a dome of tangled branches and roots with furniture to match – and the world spun around her. A quick assessment of her current state found the entire right half of her upper body and face without feeling. She reached up with her good hand and found the numb half of her expression locked in a scowling snarl. The juxtaposition of being able to move one eye but not the other left her off-balance.

“Whoa, are you alright lady?” A strange voice asked from behind her. Cora spun and lashed out at the intruder. Without conscious thought, her left arm sank into the man’s chest halfway to the elbow. Handicapped by fairy dust or no, she had practiced this spell enough so that its use became instinctual. His heartbeat thundered in her grasp.

The man stood of a height with her. Bearded, chubby, in salt-stained clothing, and smelling of fish and the sea, the only clean thing she could find about him was an oversized red knitted cap that fell off his head as he tried to recoil from her.

“Who. Are. You?” Her voice came out clear, containing every ounce of anger she felt. The man went pale and sweat beaded down his clammy skin.

“I-I-I….” The man stuttered and Cora pulsed a bit of pressure on his heart. He _squeaked_ in fear and his mouth flapped without a sound escaping. Dismissing him as less than useless, Cora applied more and more pressure, savoring his expression as he approached death.

A great forced bowled into her unfeeling shoulder, sending her sprawling. Brief shock turned to embarrassment and then morphed into rage. She regained her feet to find Hook standing between her and the intruder, hand held out in placation and hook offering the red hat to the man he had saved.

“Explain,” she demanded, voice tight with promise of death.

“This is Mister Smee,” he said, dropping his hand. “A loyal companion from days gone by. He’s offered to aid in our endeavor and I’ve guaranteed him safe passage.” The man named Smee broke into a coughing fit. Hook cast a troubled look over his shoulder.

“And what use could he _possibly_ be?”

“People tend to… underestimate me.” Smee accepted his hat from Hook, handling it with gentle fingers before putting it back in its place. “It’s come in handy on many occasions.” Smee raised hand to rest over his heart, waited a tick, and sighed in great relief. Cora found that she could believe at least one of his claims.

“And by wit or happenstance, Mister Smee has discovered the Dark One’s plans.”

“He’s found a way to cross the town line without losing his memories.” Smee hurried to explain.

“And travel to a place called… New York was it?” Smee nodded at Hook’s questioning glance and the pirate seemed self-satisfied as he hooked the fingers of his good hand into his belt and carried a predatory grin.

“And the librarian?” Cora remained impassive as Hook’s expression turned to annoyance.

“Guarded,” he said with a shrug. “By the werewolf with the preference for those wonderful leather pants.” His grin turned lecherous for a moment, betraying his weakness to his baser needs. “But it does not matter. Outside of this town, the Dark One will be powerless.”

“She is _leverage,_ Captain. She guarantees us a position of strength in the coming battle.”

“Without his magic, there will be no battle.” A shadow crossed his features as he thumbed the end of his hook. “It will be a slaughter.”

“You are a fool if you believe he has not prepared for the mere _possibility_ that he could be attacked when he is the most vulnerable. Rumplestiltskin is many things. A survivor most of all.”

The pirate’s face pinched in irritation. “And you would have us waste this opportunity?” He held his arms wide. “To wait for your grand scheme to come to pass?” He laughed, setting Cora’s blood to boil. He gestured to her frozen features. “When it appears even the Evil Queen can get the best of you.”

Cora reveled in the thought of Killian Jones’ heart crumpling to dust between her bare fingers, but the effects of the dust left her impotent. For all his foolish bluster, Hook _was_ a dangerous adversary. Without access to most of her magic, she dared not strike directly.

She cursed her daughter’s stupidity.

“Regina will see the light in due time. I simply _underestimated_ how much influence her son has over her.” She could not fathom a child’s wishes affecting her will, and wondered exactly how much of her husband’s weakness Regina inherited. “Perhaps if you cannot handle a single werewolf, you should gather the boy?”

“Kidnap a kid?” Smee spoke up, eyes wide and hand still held over his heart as if it could stop her. “Captain…?” Hook looked as if he had smelled something obscene.

Cora laughed, disbelieving. “Is this where you draw your moral line, Captain?”

“I do not enjoy the sight of desperation on a woman.” He explained, looking her up and down. “It’s unbecoming. Even on you.” Cora let out a harsh breath through her nose, the fingers on her frozen hand twitching. Hook noticed and stepped back, hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

“And I’ve always found displays of defiance tend to create deathly ramifications.” She stepped toward the pirate and his newfound sidekick, flexing the fingers of her free hand into a fist and energy gathered there at a painful, tepid pace. “Especially when it is so poorly timed.”

Hook’s eyebrows shot up in amusement even as she stalked forward. “It seems a winning gambit to me.” He drew his sword, lightning quick, and grinned when Cora stopped in her tracks. “Your fear betrays you.”

“As does yours.” Cora snapped the words out, quick and harsh. “So desperate to chase after the Dark One when he will be nothing more than crippled, weak Rumplestiltskin. Many would call you a coward.”

“But none would call me a fool.” He shrugged, unperturbed.

She switched tactics. “Then I have to wonder, Captain, if you’ve considered what comes next. For over a century you have focused on nothing but ending Rumplestiltskin’s life. It’s kept you driven, given your life meaning, and fueled your depressing obsession with a woman long dead.” Hook bared his teeth at her words, stepping closer. His sword was less than its own length from her chest.

“Her name was _Milah.”_

“And there will be nothing left of her in this world or any other once Rumplestiltskin is dead. Just one man left with nothing but ancient memories and a lonely, bitter existence.” The pirate’s sword arm shook as she spoke, inching down.

“Still your poisoned tongue, _witch._ ” He spoke the words through clenched teeth. “Or I will cut it out of you.”

“I only speak the truth,” she said with an asymmetrical smile. “Without the chase, you will be less than nothing.”

Hook let loose a snarl of anger and reared back his sword to strike. She let loose the pitiful amount of energy she had managed to gather and it struck him just under the jaw with a flash of violet light, sending him tumbling through the air.

“Captain!” His underling cried out in fear, rushing over to where the pirate landed in a heap of leather and idiocy.

Hook pushed the man away from him and scrambled to his feet, unharmed. Cora smothered her frustration so it did not show. Instead she raised a challenging brow at the pirate, hand held out as if she could strike again.

This time, the pirate fell for her front. “Come, Mister Smee.” He sneered at her, ugly and angry. A flash of the man within. “I trust you can navigate to this city you spoke of?” Without taking his eyes off of her, Hook sidestepped to the doorway, his first mate scrambling ahead of him.

“Aye, Captain!” He wasted no time in racing out of the shelter. Hook followed moments later without a parting jab. Cora counted that as a victory and let her arm drop.

Irritation and frustration dominated her thoughts, and it took many long minutes before she could force herself to clear her head and refocus on her true objective. The field of play had shifted, and she was unsettled at how she had not foreseen the extent of defiance her daughter was capable of in the absence of her son and enemy-turned-ally.

She sat heavily on the flat weave of roots that served as a bed, but took little comfort in the illusion of softness her spellwork created. In an ironic twist, the only person to act as she predicted was Rumplestiltskin, which left far fewer options before her than she would have enjoyed.

She estimated she had at least an hour’s time before the effects of the dust faded, and she was determined to regain her advantage.

Cora closed her eyes and schemed.

\---

Standing at the edge of Rumplestiltskin’s property line with a sickening sense of déjà vu, Cora found the fortress of supernatural defenses she expected to encounter in her daughter’s home. She smiled at having an immediate target for her frustration and threw subtlety to the wind.

Her course necessitated her to be both swift and brutal.

Her magic heeded her call with the barest of efforts in a sensation so euphoric following her binding in fairy dust that it almost broke Cora’s concentration.

She adjusted the length of rope wrapped over her shoulder and outstretched her arms to her sides as far as they would go. She brought them together in a clap that brought down her wrath in a thunderous _boom_ as twin waves of pure energy of the darkest purple broke against the Dark One’s wards like waves on sand.

She maintained the effort, reveling in the pure _power_ coursing through her, and the dome of magic surrounding Rumple’s house grew visible as the crimson energy struggled to match Cora’s efforts.

With Rumplestiltskin cut off from the ability to reinforce the defense, it took thirty seconds for Cora’s magic to win out. By that point the clashing energies had brightened a hundred foot area as if it had been day, and Cora knew these peoples’ mundane authorities would have been summoned.

But she feared not Prince Charming, and the town’s only other official waited for her inside.

Cora strode up the cobblestone walkway and thrust her arms out once more. The Dark One’s door and part of his front wall _ripped_ free of the house and were reduced to splinters. Beyond, Cora spied her target standing in nothing more than a nightgown, slack jawed and shielded behind a wolf several times the size it had any right to be.

The beast stood hunched and ready to strike in spite of several large pieces of debris sticking out of its hide. It reared back and howled long and deep, and the sound rolled around Cora, echoing far into the night. She did not know if it was meant as a warning or challenge, but cared little as she did not break her stride.

The wolf bounded at her through the gaping maw of Rumple’s front wall, its jaws wide and dripping with cursed saliva. Cora snapped out a ball of brute force that caught the beast on the jaw, sending it spiraling off to the right. She infused her will into her coiled rope and it rose to her command, lashing out at the wolf with the sinuous grace of a python after prey.

Vicious teeth snapped at the rope, but it knew neither caution nor fear and raced to tangle around the beast’s limbs.

The _snap-click_ of metal against metal was her only warning of danger and Cora drew up a shield before she could turn her head. The translucent purple barrier shined with dozens of blazing white lights of impact that forced Cora to backpedal to keep her balance. The _snap-click_ sounded again, and the process repeated itself again and again for seven cycles. Each strike vibrated up Cora’s arms, wrenching her shoulders and sending her shuffling backwards until she stood on the road, but her aegis held firm.

Through it she saw Rumple’s lover wearing an expression of mixed frustration, anger, and terror as she moved to reload the strange weapon. The sight of it caused the predator within Cora to roar with approval and she twisted her left arm, energy surging forward, and Belle’s firearm was wrenched from her grasp and thrown dozens of yards down the street.

Cora offered no respite, reaching metaphysical fingers out to wrap around the woman’s neck and raise her ten feet off the ground in an unrelenting chokehold. Belle coughed and spluttered and twisted her limbs in a desperate effort to escape, but Cora paid it no mind as she strode back over the yard toward the werewolf.

The beast had almost won its fight against her sentient rope, its threads scattered about in a display of animal savagery, but the werewolf’s hind legs remained bound. It fought all the harder to rip free at the sight of her holding the struggling Belle.

Cora spotted a long coil of rope – for some reason colored green – bound on a wheel just off the side of Rumple’s bare front garden. The material resisted her control more than the hempen rope, but soon danced along to her will. The werewolf attempted to use its free limbs to avoid the new binding, but simply could not move fast enough.

The new rope spiraled along the wolf’s entire torso and each of its limbs, drawing them into its body. It howled in pointless rage as it lay on its side.

“You know, Belle,” Cora said, considering her options. “I had planned just to incapacitate your friend and whisk you away. But you did not make this easy after what has already been such a _frustrating_ day.”

Belle gurgled in response, face turning blue. Cora huffed an amused breath and lightened the pressure on the woman’s neck just enough so she would not pass out.

She continued, “So I believe a bit of fun is in order.” She pulled free her necklace – made of pure silver – and focused a large portion of her remaining energy into the jewelry until it dissolved into a floating ball of silver energy. The werewolf eyed her actions, growling in defiance, and Belle struggled all the harder in her grasp.

With a gentle exhale, Cora sent the metallic magic toward the werewolf’s bindings, where it infused itself onto the cord, bonding its magical energies into it.

The effect was immediate and intense as the werewolf roared in defiance of the pain, tendrils of smoke rising from where magical rope met flesh. Cora savored the sound as it broke down into whines and whimpers when the agony did not let up. It writhed along the ground, a frantic attempt to throw off its attacker, but it only succeeded in exposing more skin and fur to direct contact with the deadly material. Cora could feel Belle’s throat undulate as she tried to shout around Cora’s metaphysical grasp.

“Which do you think will kill her first, dear? The heat igniting her fur to flame, or her heart giving in to the pain?” She asked her prisoner. Belle did not turn her gaze to Cora, her attention focused entirely on the struggling werewolf with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her legs kicked the air while her hands clawed at her throat in a pointless attempt to free herself.

With a shrug, Cora tightened her hold on Belle’s throat to the point where the brunette fell unconscious within ten seconds. “My guess is heart failure.”

She heard the telltale rumble of the realm’s motorized vehicles approaching, and risked no more time in the open. With a twist of her wrist, she swept the knocked out Belle away in a cloud of purple smoke. Just before teleporting herself, Cora caught sight of the werewolf’s eyes – startlingly aware despite its pain – promising death and retribution in their glowing golden depths.

Unsettled by the gaze, Cora left the werewolf to its excruciating demise and retreated to her shelter in a whirl of magic. Belle had landed in a crumpled heap, skin pale and clammy with the exception of her neck. A harsh, dark bruise formed from the bottom of her chin and in a solid block of color all the way to the woman’s collarbone.

Cora entertained the notion that she may have overdone it.

A concentrated burst of magic later and Belle hung limp against the wall of her shelter, the roots binding over the entirety of her arms and legs. Satisfied with her captive’s immobility, Cora took the opportunity to rest, sitting heavily on her makeshift bed.

This attack had taken a much heavier toll on her than she had anticipated. Exhaustion the likes of which she had not felt in years urged her to lie back and close her eyes, and she believed it could only be attributed as a consequence of the fairy dust.

All the better that Belle did not wake for over an hour, allowing Cora to gather herself and refocus her remaining energies toward the coming battle of wills. The groaning grind of wood straining against wood alerted Cora to her prisoner’s return to consciousness. Cora stood, finding Belle pulling at her bindings with all the might her petite body could muster, but the roots held fast.

The woman who held Rumplestiltskin’s heart stilled her efforts when Cora moved into her field of vision. A stare of pure hatred greeted Cora, and she smiled to see it.

“Monster.” Belle’s voice came out raggedy and scratched, but it did not take away from the vehemence with which the woman spoke.

“Not the worst this town has seen, I’m sure.” Cora said with amusement, stepping up to her prisoner and taking her chin between a thumb and forefinger. She forced the girl’s head to side to side and earned a pained grunt as Belle tried and failed to resist. “Such a pretty face. It is no wonder the Dark One chose you for his enjoyment.” Belle’s glare could have melted steel.

“Yet I wonder why he left you with such meager protections?” She trailed her fingers down, tracing through the bruise with enough force that Belle grit her teeth to avoid making a sound. Cora continued on until her hand rested over Belle’s heart. She could feel the organ beating the rhythm of panic and savored the empowering sensation of being its cause.

“Perhaps he left one last trap protecting your heart?” She pressed forward until her fingertips sank past the woman’s skin. Belle sucked in a sharp breath. Cora knew the sensation of such a magical intrusion was more unsettling than painful, but it could turn if given enough time. Cora leaned in to speak directly in Belle’s ear, savoring each tiny gasp and grunt as her hand sank further and further toward her captive’s heart.

“Or perhaps he does not care nearly as much as you’ve deluded yourself into believing,” Cora declared as she grasped onto the woman’s very _essence_ without consequence. Cora held it in a loose squeeze for long moments, enjoying as Belle’s breaths turned to shuddering from the undefinable pain. She brushed a hand through the woman’s hair in a gesture of mock comfort.

“You have one chance to save yourself, dear,” Cora whispered. “Tell me _everything_.”

Belle’s strained reply sealed her fate. “Fuck. You.” She struggled out the words and Cora did not give the woman the opportunity to reflect on her idiocy.

She _yanked_ , and the crystalline representation of Belle’s heart pulled free. The captive’s defiance bled out of her the moment it passed through her skin and she sagged until her full bodyweight was supported only by the twisted tangle of tree roots.

Cora studied her prize with the care of handling a priceless artifact. It shined bright and ruby red, but Cora laughed to see faint wisps of the darkest black circling inside as well. The woman was no stranger to darkness.

“Awaken,” Cora said with idle authority. Belle jerked against her bindings, rearing back against to consciousness wide-eyed and confused until she spotted the heart in Cora’s hand.

The pure and genuine terror that echoed in Belle’s eyes nearly made up for the frustrations of the day. She released the woman from the roots and Belle barely kept her feet beneath her, now shaking.

“So I will ask again,” Cora said, anticipation building. “Tell me _everything_ you know of the Dark One’s power in this world.”

Belle obeyed without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One out of three ain't bad, right Cora? Something I wanted to drive home at the end here was just how damn dangerous Cora really is. She was caught off guard twice in this chapter, derailing her plans completely, but she is still easily able to come back for round 2 and take a victory in a fantastic display of brutal efficiency.
> 
> Also, a point I hope I managed to make clear through the text, I'd like to say that Regina did seriously consider Cora's offer in this chapter. She has *never* defied Cora outside the one time with the mirror, and we saw in canon how easy it was for her to fall back into old habits. Defying her mother took a great deal out of Regina, and it's going to have lasting consequences - both good and bad.
> 
> Anyway, what did you all think of being in Cora's head? Sufficiently badass? Fall completely short? Let me know!
> 
> Until next time, read well my friends.


	8. Emma III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a certain feeling of frustrated hopelessness that occurs when something happens to the people you care about when you're in no position to offer help. Emma gets to experience the sensation first hand while also dealing with an abrupt immersion into the past she wants nothing more than to leave behind.
> 
> (Edited and updated as of 11/8/2015)

It never took long, Emma mused, for the sights offered by a drive down the interstate to become repetitive and dull. After a solid six hours of it, Emma felt proud that the boredom had not managed to steal what little sanity was left to her, though the monotony of night driving for so long was sorely testing her limits.

It did not help that Gold had absolute shit taste in music and would freak out if her hand so much as _twitched_ toward the dial.

Emma thumbed through the apps on her phone for the hundredth time with a heavy sigh that she hoped irritated the wizard, warlock, magician, or _whatever_ he called himself. None of the programs caught her interest and she clicked the phone to sleep, knowing she would repeat the process in another five minutes.

Behind her, the kid’s light snores kept up the same steady rhythm they’d held since somewhere near the Massachusetts-Connecticut border. She eyed him in the rearview, taking comfort in the rise and fall of his chest beneath her puffy winter jacket he used as a blanket. All at once she felt relieved he was well away from Storybrooke and out of Cora’s reached, concerned for _why_ Gold wanted him along in the first place, and guilty for separating him from Regina after the two were just starting to rekindle their bond.

“He’s a good lad, your boy.” Emma blinked in surprise, finding Gold staring ahead at the road before them, a pained little grin on his face. Outside of answering Henry’s incessant line of curious questions, Gold had not said a word the entire drive.

“He is,” Emma agreed, cautious. “If nothing else, Regina did a good job with him.” She considered for a moment. “Mostly,” she amended.

A faint laugh met her statement. “An ironic outcome, all things considered.” Emma could not argue the point and Gold seemed content to let the silence return following his random compliment.

Emma followed a sudden hunch. “How old was your son when you two were… separated?”

Gold’s grip on the wheel tightened with the audible creaking of leather and his eyes went hard, staring at the middle distance. Emma had the distinct impression she had crossed an unspoken line. Still, Gold spoke. “Young,” he said. “Far too young.” He glanced toward the rear view for only a second, but Emma caught it.

“Henry reminds you of him.” She deduced. Gold hummed, noncommittal. After a few beats, Emma ventured to ask, “What was he like?” Gold did not turn his attention away from the road ahead.

Awkward moments ticked by to the point where Emma turned back to her phone. She had decided to break down and find a new time waster when Gold started to answer.

“Baelfire was… good.” The same grimace of a smile pulled at his lips. “By the time he was to turn fourteen he was already a better man than I ever was.” Gold’s eyes took on the glassy tint of someone lost in memories. Not exactly what Emma wanted to see when he was driving on the freeway, but Gold’s antique of a car remained steady.

“He always had a strong sense of honor. Kind and generous to a fault.” Gold sighed a wistful breath. “He never wanted anything in the world more than what he had. So I tried to give him _everything_.” Gold shook his head the tiniest bit, and as he grew silent once again, Emma had the distinct impression that he was not used to sharing.

She wondered if he ever had spoken of his son to someone else before.

Emma pressed her luck. “How did he end up in this world?” It had taken an entire curse to get everyone else here, and from what she had been able to piece together, she knew Regina needed a hell of a lot more than a bit of emotion and will to cast it.

Gold’s expression flashed to a dangerous level of angry that had Emma reaching for her weapon on instinct. It disappeared in a moment, replaced by the benign indifference she was used to seeing, and he spoke in a tone of inarguable finality. “I made a choice.”

Emma did not belabor the point

The tense quiet that followed had Emma longing for the boredom she had cursed earlier. Gold’s agitated body language did not let up as they passed into their seventh hour and crossed over from Connecticut to New York. Emma supposed having sensitive conversations while in an inescapable metal box speeding down a highway may not have been the brightest move.

Their study in awkward silences broke just as Emma saw the lights of the city begin to coalesce in the distance. Her phone buzzed with a call, the vibration magnified by the absence of other sounds. The screen showed Mary Margaret’s smiling face and Emma’s pulse sped up. Incoming calls from family at three in the morning were never good, right?

She answered, hesitant. “Mary Margaret, what’s going on?”

A sigh of relief greeted her before Mary Margaret spoke. “You’re alright.” Exhaustion laced her words and Emma’s concerns doubled down.

“Other than being extremely bored and _really_ needing to pee, yeah.” Her humor sounded flat to her own ears and Mary Margaret did not so much as chuckle. “Something’s happened,” she said. “Who?” Emma braced herself.

“Ruby.” A brief burst of relief was followed by an intense flash of guilt and anger. Glad as she was that Regina’s name had not been spoken, she had not been prepared for Ruby to have been in the crossfire.

She forced the next words out at almost a whisper, glancing in the rearview to make sure Henry was still out of it. “Tell me she’s alive.” Gold glanced toward her with mild curiosity.

“Yes,” Mary Margaret confirmed and Emma sank down into her seat. “But that woman used _silver_ Emma.” Emma blinked, never having heard the schoolteacher so angry.

“How bad?” She asked, assuming silver was as toxic to werewolves as all the stories made it out to be.

“Burns. A-a lot of burns.” Emma closed her eyes and pushed back the sick feeling in her stomach. “Whale doesn’t know how long it’ll take for her to wake up. He says that her body’s using nearly all of its resources to purge the poison from her.”

“Jesus…” Emma muttered. “Where did it happen?” She tried to turn off concerned friend mode and go full into her sheriff state of mind, with little success.

“Outside Gold’s house.” Emma cast a sharp glance toward the man, but he acted as if he was not listening in on her conversation, eyes firm on the city rising before them. “A little more than an hour ago.”

“Any idea what she was after?” Gold owned many dangerous artifacts, and Emma presumed the most dangerous would be kept under lock and key.

“Not something,” Mary Margaret said. “Some _one_. Belle says Cora would have been able to kidnap her if not for Ruby.” Emma let out a slow breath to calm her nerves. She felt certain that the only way to gain any leverage over Gold would be to go after Belle. “She was lucky it was Ruby’s wolf time, if not she would not have been able to…” Mary Margaret trailed off and Emma heard her move the phone away from her mouth.

It did not stop Emma from making out the choked sob the woman tried to hide.

“Ruby’s strong. A fighter,” she said once Mary Margaret regained her composure. The words felt cliché off her tongue, but it made them no less true. “She’ll pull through.”

“I know, it’s just…”

“I know,” Emma said as Mary Margaret’s voice hitched again. “But now we have to worry about keeping Belle safe.”

The car jerked to the right in sudden motion and Gold brought them to a jerky stop on the side of the road. Emma had to grab the panic handle to keep herself from smacking into her window, and Henry bounced against his seatbelt in the back, jolting awake with a wide eyed yelp.

“Gold, what the _fuck!?_ ” Fueled by equal parts panic and anger, Emma could not stop the words from coming out as a shout. Henry flinched behind her, but Gold took advantage of her disorientation to snatch her phone away. Emma heard Mary Margaret shouting her name through the speaker.

“Put Belle on the line, _now_.” Gold barked the words into the phone, jaw set in anger. “Your daughter is fine. Do not test my patience, Snow White.”

“Don’t you have your own god damned phone?” Gold ignored her. The temptation to physically subdue Gold to retrieve her property almost overwhelmed Emma’s frayed patience, but she remembered her company. “You okay back there, kid?”

“I think so…” His sleepy voice answered her. Henry rubbed at his chest beneath the seatbelt, curious more than concerned. “What happened?”

Emma glanced at Gold – now whispering into the phone so that Emma could not make out the words – and shook her head. “Nothing good.” She sighed and leaned around her seat to check him over to rest her own concerns. He’d have a bruise, she believed, but nothing worse.

“That conniving _bitch_.” Gold snarled and thrust the phone in Emma’s direction, already pulling back onto the empty highway and accelerating up to a speed any sane cop would pull them over for. Emma snatched the smartphone back with a glare Gold ignored, and found Mary Margaret back on the line.

“I take it Belle is fine,” Emma said, deadpan.

“Shaken up, but yes.” The bone-deep weariness she heard had Emma checking her sarcasm and running a helpless hand through her hair.

“And where’s Regina in all of this?” Silence greeted her question and Emma’s heart skipped a beat. She kept her voice carefully calm. “Somebody checked on her, right? You know, with her crazy mother on the loose and all?” _So much for saving the sarcasm, Emma_ …

“She wasn’t the first thing on my mind.” Mary Margaret’s words came out harsher than Emma had ever heard the woman speak. It left Emma stunned for a moment as she tried to curb her instinctive, angry reaction to the woman’s dismissive words, remembering how much Henry being hurt had her running on tunnel-vision.

She figured a best friend being injured had to be at least somewhat similar, right?

Still, she could not stop a note of shortness from playing in her response. “Get someone over to Mifflin, and have them _stay_ there.” Their conversation came to a stilted goodbye following her order, neither woman having the energy to deal with hurt feelings that night. The moment the call ended, Emma hit Regina’s contact and waited, holding her breath.

If Cora had taken advantage of Gold being out of town, Emma felt no doubt the witch would have done the same in her own absence. She and Regina had planned for the confrontation, but none of their scenarios had Regina facing her mother alone. Who could have foreseen Gold calling in his favor at the worst possible time?

She cut a sideways look toward the driver, but Gold had regained his calm composure. Emma frowned.

Nothing about the situation settled well in her gut.

“Hello Miss Swan…” Regina’s greeting came at the cadence of someone focusing on each word and making an effort at pronunciation. “Making sure I haven’t gone back over to the Dark Side?” Regina laughed after her slurred words, bitter and resentful. Emma heard the clinking of glass against glass and knew Cora must have made a move.

Emma’s relief came with a heavy sigh, but she still could not help the note of sarcasm entering her tone. “Making sure you’re okay, actually, but let’s go ahead and start throwing accusations around.” Regina snorted in disbelief over the sound of pouring liquid. Moments of silence followed and Emma imagined Regina draining cider from the glass. “Seriously Regina, tell me you’re okay.”

She was sure she did not _mean_ for it to come out like a demand.

“Can’t do that, Sheriff.” Emma felt a tingling in her neck and glanced in the rear view to find Henry staring at her, worry staining his expression

“Regina,” she implored. “Talk to me. What did she say? What did she _do_?”

“She did nothing.” Her hollow laugh sent chills down Emma's spine. “It turns out that was the worst thing she _could_ have done.”

“I don't-”

Regina cut her off with a jarring shout. “She offered me _everything,_ Swan!” The woman's voice hitched. “Henry to myself. My power back. My worst enemies dead at my feet. Everything that I... What have you done to me Swan?”

Emma was left at a loss for words at the scathing question, but Regina seemed unperturbed by the lack of response, carrying on with her slurring rant

“I should have wanted to join her. There is no logical reason why I didn't. I _attacked_ her, Emma. What did you do to me?” She repeated her question with the same strained blur of words blending together. Emma took a steadying breath and let the angry accusations roll off her shoulders, focusing on remaining calm in the face of drunken confusion.

“Regina.” She enunciated each syllable of the former mayor's name, hoping it united her divided attention. “I need you to realize you did the right thing, okay?” Only the sound of Regina's edged and shaky breaths met her declaration. Emma shelved the argument for a more sober time. “Were you able to use the fairy dust?”

“I hesitated,” Regina admitted. “Even after making a choice, I was too weak to act decisively. She got away.” Emma held back a sigh. She had thought the dust would be incredibly clever. Figures the witch would have escaped it.

“You're a lot of things, Regina, but I would never consider you weak.” Emma rubbed at her forehead with her palm, staving off an echo of a migraine. She was never any good at this cheerleader type of pep talk.

“You're an awful judge of character, Emma.” The sheriff heard most of the desperation bleed out of Regina's voice – by way of exhaustion or Emma's words having an effect, she could not be sure – leaving only the sound of extreme wariness.

“Maybe, but I always stick by my bets.” Regina hummed in a vague acknowledgment of her words, and Emma pictured the woman beginning to pass out. She wondered if Regina was a lightweight or had just gone too deep after confronting her mother. “And I've got someone on their way, so don't smite on sight or something.”

Slow, even breaths met her words. Emma pulled the phone from her ear and shot a text to Mary Margaret making sure the woman would let her know the moment someone was with Regina.

With a moment to breathe, Emma took the time to consider the situation. Not hours after leaving town, Cora had taken advantage of Regina being alone to try and recruit her and failed. Then she used Gold's absence to make a play at Belle only to fail again.

Emma knew Cora would not – _could not –_ take such a show of defeat lying down. More concerning was how she knew to make her move so _quickly_.

“We have to go back,” Emma said, staring at her phone’s black screen. Her reflection looked awful with its stress lines and the shadows beneath her overworked eyes. “Turn it around Gold.” She meant it to sound as a command, but it the words came out flat.

“Absolutely not.” Gold scoffed, not even sparing her a glance.

“She only did this because we’re not there,” she said through gritted teeth. She knew he had to have realized it as well. “We can come back after Cora’s taken care of.”

“She tried and failed, Miss Swan. She will spend time licking her wounds and gathering her strength.” His fingers drummed the steering wheel in an irritating rhythm. “Because she will know I will be coming after her upon our return. And rest assured, I will _obliterate_ her for what she’s done.” Gold spoke with a nonchalant nature of absolute certainty that chilled Emma to the bone. “We press on.”

The timing of the night's events twisted Emma's insides in the certain knowledge she was missing an integral piece of insight. Her instincts screamed at her that she needed to be back in Storybrooke to face this threat head on. She contemplated ripping the shawl from Gold’s neck and kicking the man out of the car, but restrained herself. It wouldn’t be the _heroic_ thing to do.

“I-is Mom okay?” Henry’s squeaky voice stole her attention. He had gone pale, posture held tense. He was terrified, Emma realized, and her demeanor was not helping things.

She did not paste on a smile, knowing the kid was too smart to buy it, but instead just tried to hide the worst of her anxiousness and fear. “She will be,” she said. “It's just hasn't been an easy day for her.” Henry nodded, appearing slightly mollified. “But hey. Even if she's not on her A-game right now, we'll be there to help her get back to it, yeah?” Henry considered her point for a moment, then smiled in his goofy way and nodded his agreement. It was infectious and Emma found herself grinning back even as Gold took them farther away from where she thought she needed to be and where she _knew_ she wanted to be.

\---

“And you're sure your magic globe gave you this address?” Emma asked with more than a little skepticism. They were in a relatively decent neighborhood, which meant that in a city like New York the rent would doubtlessly be extraordinarily high. She _still_ had moments of phantom stress over trying to save enough to pay her loft's rent from Boston, despite not having lived there in over year.

Gold drew a long breath, holding back a sigh. “I have the coordinates down to the second, Miss Swan.” He clicked his cane against the ground, walking toward the building with all the confidence in the world. Emma glanced behind her, finding Henry turned away from her and chattering into her phone. She did not try to hold back the smile that bubbled up at the sight.

Gold had shown mercy the night before, finding a motel just miles outside the city limits and letting them get a few hours of rest. It didn't stop him from getting them back on the road at the crack of dawn, but Emma was grateful for the time even if the only benefit was allowing Henry to be reassured by his mother directly rather than relying on Emma's vague promises alone.

She poked him in the shoulder and cocked her head toward the building. He nodded and skipped ahead of her, not breaking his conversation with Regina that Emma surmised had to do with creating defensive wards from his constant questions. From the way his eyes kept lighting up, Emma figured that the kid was a far better student than she was, even remotely.

She shook her head with a rueful sigh, following him into lobby of Baelfire's supposed apartment building. It was a tiny thing, with just enough room for the three of them to stand with and not feel suffocated. A set of glass doors stood locked before them, and the right wall was covered in mailboxes – each with a buzzer to their owner's apartments. The rest of the room was bare, impersonal, and unremarkable. Fantastic features if one was looking to lay low.

Gold studied the mailboxes, glancing from name to name with a deepening scowl.

Emma could not help herself. “So I take it none of them are tagged 'Baelfire, son of the Dark One,' right?”

“No.” Gold did not become angry, looking from the mailboxes to the door that barred their way. “If I had my magic I could do a simple tracking spell.”

“But you're running dry on the juju,” Emma said, trying to keep her tone under control. The sooner they found the missing Baelfire, the sooner they made it back to Storybrooke. “Did he ever have a pseudonym back in the day?”

Gold shook his head. “He never needed one.”

 _That you knew of_. Emma held back an irritated breath. She needed _something_ to go off of, but Gold seemed to have nothing to give her. She stepped up beside him, giving each name a once over for anything that might have jumped out as false. Unfortunately Baelfire was not so kind as to pick something obvious.

Only one thing drew her eye. Apartment four-oh-seven's tag held no name, and Emma wondered if they could really be that lucky.

“This,” she said, tapping the mailbox. “Is our best bet.”

“It could just be vacant,” Gold pointed out, a frustrated lilt to his voice. Emma eyed him, not hiding her annoyance.

“Without anything else to go on, this is what we've got. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't want to draw attention to himself. No name on the mailbox, no undue attention.”

“You thought of it,” Gold said. “Would others not make the same leap of logic?”

“I've been on the run before,” Emma explained distractedly, trying to figure out a believable con to get them in the building when most people would not have begun their days. “It's the same trick I'd use.”

“Why not just ask?” Henry handed Emma her phone, joining in on the conversation. “I mean, we can't figure out anything by just guessing, right?”

“Right you are, kid.” Emma closed her eyes, thinking of sad moments in her past as she hit four-oh-seven's buzzer in three quick bursts. When she spoke again her voice cracked in a decent imitation of someone choking back a sob. “H-hello? I-I-I...can you buzz me in?” She sniffled noisily. “I-I was just attacked... They took my wallet which had my key and... P-please can you?”

Silence answered her and both Gold and Henry looked at her with unbridled skepticism. Emma held her breath for two beats, ignoring their incredulity. She was rewarded when a buzzer sounded to her left with the typical _click_ of a lock releasing following on its heels. Emma had hoped the renter would answer by voice so Gold could confirm if it was his son, but she would take what she could get.

“After you,” she said to Gold, not bothering to hide the smug sense of satisfaction. She cleared her throat to get rid of the hitch and held the door open. Gold strode by, shaking his head, and Henry scurried after him with a smile on his face, muttering the word “awesome” under his breath. Emma made a mental note to sit her son down and have a good old fashioned 'do as I say and not as I do' lecture. The last thing they needed was the kid learning how to pull a con.

Regina would kill her.

With fire.

Emma followed the pair of them up three flights of stairs carpeted in a dull beige to match the painted brick of the walls. The hallway they reached on the fourth level proved to be just as nondescript, with nothing to break up the monotony save for the stark white doors lining each side of the hall, staggered from side to side every ten or so feet. They found lucky number four-oh-seven at the end of the hall, tucked against the corner.

Gold raised his cane to knock, but Emma caught him before he struck the wood.

“He's spent how long running?” She asked, words a whisper. “I should break the ice here.” Gold's posture went tense, ready to argue, but seemed to think better of it and nodded her forward. He and Henry put some distance between themselves and the door at Emma's insistence, so they would not be within anyone’s line of sight at first glance.

She knocked, and waited. She strained her hearing to listen within, but could only just make out the sound of someone crossing the floor with careful, quiet steps.

A muffled voice called through the door. “Who's there?”

Emma pushed her tone to a place of grateful embarrassment. “I just wanted to say thank you,” she said, letting a grimace cross her lips when she saw a shadow cut off the light shining from the peephole. She moved to speak again, but the door yanked open in a sudden jerk that startled her, but the small fright paled in comparison to the bombardment of varied and wild emotions that struck her at the sight of the man.

Several of Emma's nightmares came to pass at once.

“Emma...” The man whispered, shock etched into every aspect of his body language. He stood just a few inches taller than her, his brown hair cut short but still somehow shaggy, the same excuse for a goatee he always favored shadowed his chin and upper lip, and he stood in nothing than flannel pants and a wife beater – his preferred sleepwear, she recalled. His brown eyes lacked the mischievous gleam that had so enamored her in her youth, the haze of sleep and confusion in its place.

She had imagined this situation hundreds of times, if not thousands. For that first year, little else had ever been on her mind. Yet as she stood there with her mouth hanging open like a gaping fool, Emma could not focus her anger and panic well enough to form a coherent thought, let alone vocalize one. A thousand explanations and possibilities flashed through her mind, but Emma could not act.

He smiled, toothy and genuine, and everything in her head boiled down to the thought of _how dare he_? She reared back her right arm and punched her first love right in the solar plexus. The blow caught him off guard and he stumbled back, wheezing.

“Stay here.” The words came out low and harsh and she saw Henry flinch in her peripheral vision, his eyes wide in surprise. She ignored the jolt the sight sent through her gut and stepped into the man's apartment, slamming the door behind her. She gathered herself and faced the man who abandoned her to take the fall for his crimes.

“Hello Neal.” She had aimed for pissed, but the words lacked the _oomph_ she imagined they should have.

He raised back up to his full height with a grimace, rubbing at his sternum. “Probably deserved that.” He muttered the words, not having the air to say them louder, and seemed to be content just _staring_ at her, gaze looking her up and down with a damned _smile_ on his face.

He stood there, looking hardly any different than he had over a decade ago, and Emma tried to make the puzzle pieces fit. If fucking _Neal_ was really Gold's son, she did not know how she would react. If her biggest mistake had all been part of some grand plan… P

lanned out by the megalomaniac standing out in the hall…

Neal spoke first, asking, “What are you doing in New York?” He looked thoughtful for a second. “How did you even find me?”

“You knew.”

Neal blinked. “Knew what?”

“You _knew_.” The words were all in Emma’s head, clear in their scathing intent, but they came out a jumbled mess as her mind whirled. “You come from _there_ , so you had to have known. Was everything a lie? Just a fucking scheme to get me to fulfill some bullshit destiny?” Neal held up his hands in a placating gesture, eyes wide.

“Easy Em. I have no idea what you're talking about.” He looked around, panicky and backing up, as Emma advanced on him. He sounded genuinely afraid.

“Your _fathe_ r,” she said the words in little more than a hiss. “You're Rumplestiltskin’s son.” Neal froze in place, demeanor changing from fearful to guarded quick enough to seem unnatural.

He looked beyond her toward the door, words coming out harsh with the beginnings of anger. “Is that how you found me? Did you bring that bastard to my fucking front door?” Neal did not wait for her answer, turning from her and scrambling over to an old set of gym lockers that lined his far wall, picking up a duffel off the floor on his way.

“Hey!” She closed the distance and grabbed his shoulder, yanking him away from the lockers just as he started digging into them. “You _don't_ get to be the angry one here.” His brown eyes flashed with fury and for a heart-stopping moment, Emma believed he might lash out. She braced herself for a blow.

Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep, lingering breath.

“Emma, please.” The nylon bag crinkled in his shaking grip. “You can’t let him in here. I’ve been running away from that man for decades. I crossed realms, Emma. Three times!” He said it as if it had been a big deal, but Emma found she did not care. She’d done the same and only _meant_ to the once.

“I. Don’t. Care.” She yanked the bag out of his grip in a show of force that caught Neal off guard and forced him to stumble to keep his balance. “I owed him a favor, and if you enduring his presence long enough to tell him to ‘fuck off’ is what I need to get that off my back, then you’ll do it. You _owe_ me, Neal.”

She just had to figure out how to get Gold inside without Neal interacting, seeing, or acknowledging Henry’s presence in any way.

“You made a deal with my father?” Neal asked with an incredulous laugh. The sound of it brought Emma right back to seventeen, feeling insecure over saying something that might have been silly or stupid. She hated that he had that power over her and pushed the echoed emotions away.

“You don’t get to judge me. Ever.” She slammed one of his lockers shut and shoved him back toward the front room.

He held his ground. “There’s a lot I don’t get to do, apparently.” He shook his head, flexing his hands in the open air between them. “Listen, Emma.” He tried to put on the smile he always wore when she was mad at him. A decade ago it would have melted her. “Now that you know everything, I can _explain_.”

“I _really_ don’t need to hear it.” Altering her strategy, Emma grabbed a fistful of Neal’s tang top and dragged him to the foyer. She just needed to _secure_ him to something, shove Gold inside, and keep Henry from even looking within. It was a plan as solid as it was simple, and Emma knew it would have worked.

If Gold had not already let himself and Henry into the apartment.

She froze, trying to process a way to salvage the situation. Gold and Neal stared each other down, neither giving an inch. A variety of emotions flittered through Gold’s guarded eyes, while Neal stood stone-faced, tense, and ready to bolt. The situation balanced on a pin point, but Emma thought that Neal had not noticed the kid, which meant she could still –

“Hi!” Emma closed her eyes, silently cursing her son’s friendly disposition. He held out his hand, stepping toward the father he did not know. “I’m Henry.” Off kilter, Neal blinked at the kid for a stunned moment before grasped the offered hand in his own, letting Henry give it a dramatic shake. Standing so close together, Emma could see the small bits of Neal that were peppered throughout Henry’s features.

It churned her stomach.

“Neal…” The man offered in place of a greeting, bemused.

Henry’s brows furrowed. “I thought your name was Baelfire?” He looked to her. “Did we get the wrong apartment, Emma?” She was never more grateful Henry had not picked up a habit of calling her “mom.”

“No.” Gold spoke up, answering before she could. “Your mother has proven quite adept at her trade, Henry.” Emma closed her eyes, grinding her teeth, wincing, and wanting to scream to the heavens how _unfair_ her situation just became. “Baelfire…” Gold stepped toward his son, but Neal’s attention was split between her and Henry, jaw loose.

“ _Mother_!?” Neal paled and Emma urged her mind to work faster than the gears churning in Neal’s head, but she kept coming up blank, paralyzed by indecision. “How old are you, kid?”

“Almost twelve.” Henry frowned, doubtlessly recognizing the subtext in the air. Neal went from pale to ashen, mouth moving but unable to speak. He looked to her, eyes screaming a thousand questions he could not vocalize and Emma stood frozen in place. “Emma… What’s going on?” Henry sounded almost scared.

The kid was smart, Emma knew. He likely was putting everything together as quickly as Neal was. Even with less information.

Gold held a look of dawning revelation as well.

Something inside her snapped, and Emma moved in a burst of sudden motion that had Neal flinching away. She grabbed Henry by the arm and all but ran from the apartment. She had no idea where to go except _away_ from the situation. As far as possible.

“Emma!” Neal shouted from behind her. “Is he my son?” Heavy footfalls banged against the floor behind her as Emma raced down the stairs with Henry in tow. Just as she pushed through building’s double doors, Neal called out again, sounding much closer. “I have a right to know if he is my _son_! Emma!?”

A hand grasped her shoulder and Emma lashed out without breaking stride, driving a kick into Neal’s shin. The man cursed and dropped, and Emma did not stop running until she put several twists and turns between her son and the man, finding refuge in an alley between two towering brick buildings.

She let herself lean against one and dropped her face into her hands. She wanted to curl up and pretend it was all a dream.

Henry huffing, puffing, and gasping for air beside her stood as a stark reminder of just how real the situation was.

“Emma…?” Henry’s voice wavered between his labored breaths. Emma forced herself to look at her son, finding his innocent face contorted with confusion, apprehension, and a sprinkling of fear.

 _Please don’t ask kid_ , she begged in silent prayer. _Please just let it go._

“You told me my dad died.” His voice cracked and the beginnings of tears formed at the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah…” Emma let herself slide down the wall until she sat on the ground hugging her knees.

“You told me he was a hero.” The tears slipped down his cheeks and Emma felt the stinging wetness ready to release at the back of her own eyes. She closed them and nodded. “You _lied_ to me!”

The accusation ripped through her heart without mercy, leaving the fiery burn of guilty shame behind. Henry rarely became truly angry, and she had never been on the receiving end of his righteous fury before. For a moment she considered if this is what Regina felt like every time Henry had accurately accused her of lying.

She pushed the thought away. “Henry.” Her voice was thick with emotion and her vision blurred as she opened her eyes. Henry stood taller than her in this position, his fists balled and shaking at his sides. Anger and betrayal ruled his expression, and Emma held onto the desperate need to make him _understand_.

But no words came to her.

How the hell did she explain to a kid that she never even told his father that he existed? That she didn’t think he _deserved_ to know he had a son? Henry would not know the rage she had felt. Could not fathom a betrayal that ran so deep that it changed her life forever. Would not perceive the hopelessness she lived through. Did not remember a year spent behind bars for a crime not committed.

He would only see a woman who kept his father away from him. A mother who kept secrets from him. A person he _trusted_ having lied to him from almost the word go.

“I’m sorry.” The words left her, harsh and laced with her restrained emotions. Tears teetered on the edge of falling from her eyes. “Henry…” She did not reach out to him or try to explain, only watching as he bowed his head. She could not see his eyes behind his shaggy hair, and Emma was far from sure she wanted to.

Pounding footsteps echoed down the alley and Emma spotted Neal run into sight. He skidded to a halt, barely catching himself on the far wall, and just stood there. With his heaving chest, pajamas, and bare feet, he looked foolish. He stared at her and the kid, asking a silent question. Without a viable alternative, Emma nodded.

Neal took a deep breath and seemed to brace himself, walking over to Henry with a determined gait. Her son watched him as well, his anger replaced with a cautious curiosity. As Neal knelt before her son, Emma wondered when it had been decided that she would be fate’s plaything.

“So…” Neal said, awkward as could be while spending long seconds searching for something to say. “You like pizza?”

Emma let her head bang against the wall behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're chugging right along, aren't we? I'm excited to delve into the messy familial dynamic that is Rumplestiltskin-Neal-Henry, which has parallels that practically beg me to explore.
> 
> Much of the time, I see Neal get treated awfully by this fandom. While he certainly is deserving of criticism, there's still a good deal of redeeming qualities about the guy. I hope to show him in a balanced light in that regard. He made mistakes, he took the path of least resistance, but hey, he cares. Whether it's enough to ever get into Emma's good graces remains to be seen.
> 
> In any case with that, I want to be clear. There is absolutely no way Swan Thief will ever approach happening in this fic outside of flashbacks. There are just some things relationships cannot recover from.
> 
> As for the more fun stuff, Drunk!Regina is an idea that's oft-explored by Swen, and I could not resist myself. Though my take is much less humorous due to the situation, I find it helps break the ice on Regina's defenses just a bit. She won't be happy about that though, which will spill into the future somewhat.
> 
> And by gods do I think I need to do a Snow chapter soon. I keep on getting her in a relatively negative light, and she deserves a chance to shine from her own PoV.
> 
> Next chapter, though, will be either a Henry chapter or another Interlude with multiple PoVs. It basically comes down to how long Henry's scenes end up being.
> 
> Until then, please leave your thoughts on the chapter! Was Neal realistically portrayed in this alternate line of events? Do Emma and Regina's interactions show them growing closer at a glacial place? Can Emma ever catch a break? If you have a notion, please let me know.
> 
> I love feedback, it gives me strength!


	9. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, another interlude chapter with multiple PoVs. I've been getting feedback both through comments and private messaging expressing some concerns regarding Snow's and David's characters. This chapter should alleviate some of them.
> 
> (edited and updated as of 11/10/2015)

**\---**

**Snow I**

**\---**

Snow shifted in the hard-backed plastic chair and failed to find a position that did not highlight every ache and pain in her body. She held back a grumpy sigh at the passing thought that she should have been used to these chairs by now. She ignored it, forcing the depressing realization of how much time she had spent in this hospital out of her mind to worry about later.

Ruby chose that moment to groan a low, pain-filled whine. Snow had stopped letting the sounds inspire hope that her friend might wake. It stopped the crushing disappointment when the woman simply settled back to her rest after whatever pained her had eased.

Snow hoisted herself onto tired feet and trudged to her friend’s side. A hefty bowl of ice water had been left at Ruby’s bedside by one of the nurses, a small pile of cloths tucked beside it. Snow took one, dipped it, and began to mop Ruby’s forehead. The woman suffered from a fever on the “cusp of turning critical” according to Whale, and each of these episodes seemed to drive Ruby further in that direction.

She bit her lip and focused on her task, pointedly ignoring the bandages snaking Ruby’s body from her neck down. Snow knew all too well how painful burns could be, and hated the thought of Ruby suffering that particular agony after only trying to protect a friend. When they found Cora – and they _would_ , she promised herself – she was going to bring that monster _down_.

“Is this a bad time?” Snow started, surprised by the gentle timbre of Archie’s voice. She looked up to find him watching her from the room’s doorway, genuine concern shading his gentle gaze. He nodded toward her hand, and Snow realized that her arm was shaking, squeezing all the water out of the cloth.

With a slight flush, Snow fought to control her emotions and dunked the cloth into the chilled liquid, resuming her ministrations. “Not at all,” she said after she had gathered herself. Archie smiled and took a seat in the chair she had spent most of the day in.

It was odd, she mused, to see him without his usual tweed outfit or Pongo at his side. She spotted bandages poking out from beneath the sleeves of his loose plaid sweater, and assumed he had opted for comfort while he healed. It was another reminder of the good people hurt by Cora’s mere presence in her town, and Snow had to cross her arms to keep them from starting to shake once more.

Cora had so _much_ to answer for, but here she was. Feeling utterly helpless.

“How is she holding up?” Archie’s question drew her back to the present, and Snow took a steadying breath before answering.

“About as well as yesterday.” She busied herself tidying a small vase of wildflowers sitting next to the water bowl. “I still can’t believe that _witch_ used silver.”

She heard the grimace in Archie’s response. “She certainly has a vindictive streak.” He rubbed at a wrist in an absent motion. “Using tactics that will affect the most people in a personal way.” He peered at her, thoroughly without judgement, and Snow let her eyes fall. “Do you have anything on your mind, Snow?”

Her first reaction was annoyance, but Snow crushed it before it could surface. Archie meant well, always, and had earned his nickname dozens of times over during her campaign to claim her father’s throne and well beyond. Still, she hesitated as a silence drew on, broken only by the machines measuring Ruby’s vitals. Archie seemed content to wait her out, twiddling with his sleeves in his pleasant, unassuming manner.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” she said with several weeks’ worth of frustrations brimming under the surface.

“I know many folks were having difficulties with the transition,” Archie suggested. “Once the curse broke, there was quite a bit of confusion with their senses of self.” Snow nodded. David had told her about how he had rallied the panicking townsfolk together to embrace both sides of themselves – original and cursed alike.

“I never had a chance to think about it,” Snow said, considering. It had only been a few hours after regaining her memories that found her following Emma through the portal back home. It’d felt like she hadn’t missed a day. “I just picked up where I left off. I had to.” Other than her… _meekness_ , Mary Margaret had not been so different than Snow White.

“And how was the homeland?” Archie asked with a slight frown. It was a question many of her friends and acquaintances had sought her out to ask in the last few weeks. She had always avoided the question, not wanting to sully their memories. The look in Archie’s eyes as he peered at her hinted that he might have already had an inkling of the state of things.

She spoke true. “It was… not good.” Archie’s raised red eyebrows met her understatement. “Less than a ghost of what it used to be.” She explained, fingers drumming silently on Ruby’s bed. “There were survivors, refugees, and some people from different kingdoms, but the way they were living…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Their fate was much worse than ours.”

And Cora had ended their fragile hopes and simple lives as an afterthought. A massacre to send a message. Her stomach turned.

“Was?” Archie prompted.

“She killed them all. No mercy. _Children_ , Archie!” The memory of it made her want to rage and destroy something, curl up in a ball and cry, scream her lungs empty in her frustration. That the woman had _followed_ them back burned at her. That everyone’s lives were in jeopardy because they did not _end_ the woman back in the Enchanted Forest filled her with a guilt so complete that it threatened to cripple her some days.

Archie’s complexion faded to ashen at the thought. “I’m sorry you had to witness such a thing.” His words did little to ease the weight on her shoulders. “I can’t imagine how it must have been for Emma,” Archie said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Trapped in a foreign realm, everything alien to her…”

An echo of a smile graced Snow’s lips as she pushed the awful memories away and focused on the brightest spot in her life. “Emma did amazingly well.” Her daughter’s perseverance, determination, and do-good nature inspired immeasurable pride in Snow. “It was never easy, but she kept her eyes forward.” She let herself gush, just a bit. “We worked together so well, it was almost exactly like I had pictured us becoming when I’d been pregnant…”

A familiar pang of disappointment at lost opportunities flared through her, gone as quick as it had come.

“Nothing forges bonds quite as quickly as working together to survive,” Archie said with a short nod.

Snow’s face fell. “It hasn’t seemed to last since we’ve been back.” She tried not to let the bitter tone of regret stain her words. “There just hasn’t been any time…”

Archie reached up and pulled at his collar with a grimace. “There’s an evil to focus on, and I’m sure Emma feels somewhat responsible for Cora being in Storybrooke, just as you do.” He quirked an amused half-smile. “She _is_ your daughter.”

“I see it sometimes,” Snow said with a wistful glance out the window. The town below them bustled with midday activity. “There are moments when I feel like I never missed anything.” She shook her head, looking back to Archie. “But every so often it feels like I don’t know her at all. That I can’t understand the choices she makes.”

Archie sat without comment, curious eyes watching her every move. Snow fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweater, wondering why it had been easier to speak to Archie when he was a cricket than it was now.

“She was so adamant about Regina’s innocence of—” She stopped herself and gave Archie an apologetic look, but he just waved her on to continue. Snow chose her words with more care. “I admire her compassion, but I just don’t understand how she can forgive Regina so, so _easily_.

“And now Emma’s been spending almost every waking moment together with her trying to ‘protect’ Regina from her mother.” Snow held her hands out wide, trying to emphasize her point. “I can’t help but to worry about the influence Regina is having on her. That Regina is putting one of my loved ones in danger _again_.” She clenched her firsts opened and closed, wishing for an answer to appear. “I want to trust in Emma’s instincts, but I can’t wrap my head around where she’s coming from.” Her arms fell to her sides and she looked to Ruby. “I don’t know if I can get past what Regina has done. To _all_ of us.”

She could not support her daughter’s choices, and that thought nibbled on the edge of her thoughts at all times.

It was maddening.

When Archie spoke, it was with the hesitant cadence of someone treading lightly. “Putting aside personal biases,” he said. “Is difficult. But it’s critical to do so if you want to try to see the world from an alternate perspective.” He stood and leaned his hands on the plastic footrest at the end of Ruby’s bed, fingers drumming against the plastic.

“I’ve spoken to the Sheriff several times since she ended the curse,” he said. “It seems to me that she’s been focused on one thing above others: defending Regina.”

“For Henry,” Snow was quick to point out. The stories all told how her own heart was supposed to be as pure as driven snow, but it was Henry that possessed the most forgiving heart. Even after she lied to him for his entire childhood, the young boy still found it in him to forgive Regina. Snow was as proud of him as she was concerned.

“Partially.” Archie agreed. He turned his eyes upward and seemed to hesitate before continuing. “The two of them share several similar qualities.” Snow’s eyes narrowed toward a glare on instinct. “It isn’t surprising that she would be drawn to Regina as a kindred spirit. Of sorts.”

Snow wanted to argue the point, but a stray thought gave her pause. _I know that look_ , her daughter had said. _I know_ her ** _._** _I believe her_.

The empty, echoing pain of regret ate at her and Snow had to turn away from the man. Her time with Emma in the Enchanted Forest had drawn them together, but it was a far cry from the bond they’d lost out on when Snow had placed her into the wardrobe those many years ago.

And since they had returned, Regina had been Emma’s entire focus, the woman sparing time only for Henry and a few brief moments with her parents. It boggled Snow’s mind how even after everything Regina had done, Emma seemed closer to her than she did her own mother.

“She was close with Mary Margaret.” The memory of their time as roommates usually filled Snow with immeasurable joy, knowing how _good_ Emma had been to someone who was little more than a stranger, but now it left only the ache of longing behind.

“But you’re not completely Mary Margaret anymore.” Archie said the words gently as he if he were treading on dangerous ground. “Just as your husband isn’t just David Nolan, and I’m both Archie Hopper and Jiminy Cricket.”

“It’s taken some adjusting,” Snow said, though she believed herself to be at peace with their new reality.

“You have a stronger sense of self than most, Snow.” He smiled at her briefly, but sobered. “But imagine how it must have been for Emma? Everyone that she thought she knew…”

“Was suddenly someone else.” The thought had not crossed her mind before

“Except for Henry and…”

Realization dawned on Snow. “Regina.”

Archie nodded. “In times of turmoil, it’s human nature to cling to things that are familiar. That Cora is added to the mix only intensifies that feeling, I’d imagine.”

Snow remained quiet, studying her comatose friend’s face. Cora’s handiwork was vindictive and terrifying and Ruby had not even been her target. Snow let herself forget that it was Regina in danger and imagined if it were Emma or Charming or Henry in the crosshairs. The bottom falling out of her stomach told her all she needed to know.

If Emma truly cared about Regina, for the reasons Archie believed or otherwise, then Snow could understand how her daughter’s focus had been taken so completely these past weeks. She did not _agree_ , but she did not have to.

Snow felt a sudden rush of shame. After almost thirty years of absence, she’d tried to impose her own views on her daughter.

“Thank you, Archie,” she said. She resolved to ease up on the Regina issue, but knew better than to let her guard down completely. She needed to find a balance or risk ostracizing her daughter completely.

“Never a problem.”

“Oh. Should I come back?” Snow started once more at another new voice. Bell stood just inside Ruby’s room, bouncing on the balls of her feet and fidgeting with an array of vibrant gray-blue flowers she held in a bundle. The librarian looked between Snow and Archie with something close to apprehension, but Snow understood. The tiny room simply did not have enough space to house all three of them.

“I was just on my way,” Archie said before Snow could speak. He gave the unconscious woman’s hand a gentle squeeze, bid them all a quiet goodbye, and slipped out the door.

“How has she been?” Belle sidestepped around Snow and started placing her flowers in the vase on Ruby’s bedside. The relaxed gray contrasted well with the wildflowers, she thought.

“About the same as yesterday.” Belle looked as if she had braced herself for worse news and sighed in relief. “But what about you, how are you holding up?”

“The fairies were unique company,” Belle said with a halfhearted laugh. She finished fussing with the flowers and turned her attention to Ruby, laying a feather-light hand on the woman’s arm. “But I didn’t get much rest.” Snow offered a sympathetic smile, but Belle did not see it with her attention focused entirely on Ruby with an inscrutable expression.

“Have you heard—” Snow’s question was cut off by Ruby’s heartrate monitor spiking to a terrifyingly quick pace. Belle whipped her gaze toward the machine, eyes wide and panicked as Ruby started convulsing.

Snow moved to the opposite side of Ruby’s bed, swallowing fear and slamming the call button on her way, and got up under Ruby’s arm and hoisted the woman to her side. She tried to keep her friend steady, but the spasms were stronger than any Snow had ever seen. Belle backed to the corner of the room, not tearing her eyes off Ruby, looking entirely lost.

Snow could not spare her further thought until a team of nurses bounded into the room and took her place, forcing both Snow and Belle out of the room, only able to poke their heads in the doorway to watch them work on Ruby. Snow swore she did not draw a true breath for the long minutes until Ruby’s seizure had passed. When Ruby stilled and the monitor’s beep returned to a steady rhythm, Snow sagged in exhausted relief.

Beside her, Belle slid down to the floor, head in her hands. “I don’t know if I can handle this,” she said, voice tight with emotion. Snow willed away her own anxious apprehension and gripped the other woman by the shoulder. Surprised as she was at Belle seemingly folding under pressure, Snow did not let it show. She knew better than most the pain of feeling overwhelmed and helpless.

Especially with the addition of guilt to the mix, deserved or not.

“I know it’s not easy, but Ruby is a fighter.” Snow repeated her daughter’s words. “She’ll survive this, and so will we.”

Belle let her head fall back against the wall, her eyes closed. “I hope you’re right.” She sounded unconvinced.

Snow peeked back into her friend’s room to find the nurses stripping the werewolf’s bedding and lining ice packs along Ruby’s body. She paled at the sight

“I have to be,” she whispered.

The alternative was far too awful for her to even fathom.

\---

**David II**

**\---**

“So I have to ask,” David said as he walked through Storybrooke’s graveyard side by side with the woman who had chased after his wife for the better part of Snow’s adult life. “Why the secret hideaway?” He stepped around a pair of tombstones breaking down and crumbling with the inevitable corrosion of time. “Couldn’t you have just set up something in your basement? It’s not like anyone would’ve been looking for magic at your front door.”

Regina spared a halfhearted glare his way. She stopped arguing about his presence hours ago, but she still made it clear she wanted him gone each time he opened his mouth. Her cold shoulder and curt words could drive most anyone away.

David was not sure if he was patient enough to endure it or just too stubborn to disobey his daughter’s request, but he managed to stick around.

“It’s pretty morbid too,” he said when the former queen maintained her silence. “A vault in a tomb? Were you trying to hit all the clichés on purpose?” Regina’s nostrils flared.

“It’s from the old world,” she said with a flicker of heat. “I don’t suppose you would understand the wisdom of having a safe place of retreat.”

_Only spent years beating you and your armies back_ , he thought. _Naturally without any understanding of strategy._ He held back from voicing his objection and instead studied the mausoleum they approached.

It seemed standard for what it was, as far as David could tell. Built from stones in varying shades of gray and standing at least a couple dozen feet tall, it stood out separate from the gravesites surrounding it that now seemed pedestrian in comparison. An iron gate secured an entrance flanked by Greek-style columns, and a wild ivy grew up its sides in a controlled display of chaos.

It seemed a regal resting place. Fitting for an evil queen to choose for her hideaway, David supposed.

Regina did not use a key, opting instead to wave a hand over the gate. The metallic _click_ of a release lock echoed against the stone around it and the graveyard beyond, sending an unsettling chill along David’s spine. Regina strode down steps carved into the earth with all the confidence of someone who had done so many times before. David followed at a more reserved pace, eyes sharp for hidden traps or dangers.

“Nothing’s going to pop out of the walls.” Regina stopped at the end the subterranean hallway just as David took another slow, deliberate, step within. She stood in an open doorway with a scowl on her face, blocking his view of the room behind her. “This isn’t Indiana Jones.” Fighting a flush in his cheeks, David upped his pace.

The woman rolled her eyes and stepped into the chamber beyond the hall. When he caught up, David found Regina pushing against a sarcophagus with all her might. The scraping of stone against stone irked his ears even as he was dumbfounded by the display. The stone coffin should have weighed at least a ton, but Regina moved it with ease.

Another set of stairs proved to be what lay beneath the tomb, and Regina wasted no time in descending those as well, not even sparing him a glance. David’s stomach twisted in an unpleasant way. Using a shell of a mausoleum to house a vault was one thing, but to _actually_ use the fallen as a secret doorway offended his sense of decency.

It was his sense of duty that pushed him onward despite his hesitance, and he thought a silent apology to the poor soul housed resting within the sarcophagus as he followed Regina further down into her lair.

The stairs leveled out into another claustrophobic hallway, and David spotted Regina up ahead where the space bloomed into a domed room the size of Snow’s apartment. The former queen stared at a wall, pale-faced and resigned.

The vault proved more cluttered than David would have expected. A variety of artifacts were on display throughout the space, held on low stone tables or pedestals the same style as the columns outside. A series of bookshelves had been carved into one of the walls, each filled with tomes of various sizes and color, sporting languages David were not sure were even real. Regina’s attention was captivated by the wall opposite the books, which was covered in what seemed to be security deposit boxes with decorative hearts carved in their fronts.

David felt nauseated, instantly aware of what he was seeing.

“How many did you _take_?” He did not bother to keep the disgust from showing. There were dozens of the boxes, and David was certain each had held someone’s heart at one time.

She did not seem to hear him. “It’s gone,” she said. David noticed she held one of the boxes in her hands, open and empty.

“Good,” he said and started pulling the cages out of the wall at random, making sure each was empty before moving on to the next. Regina did not try to stop him.

“Not good,” she backpedaled until she hit one of her display tables and rested her weight on it, letting the heart box fall from her hands. “That one was my mother’s.”

David halted in his justified path of destruction. Regina’s words churned in his mind, but he could not _fathom_ what her logic could possibly have been.

“You had her heart.” His tone came out dull. Regina bowed her head in what might have been a nod and David struggled to remember why they were giving her _another_ chance. “How did you not _tell_ us?”

“I had to know.” Regina’s head snapped back up, eyes full of defiance. “She knew I had it,” she said, regaining her feet. “And if I made a move to use it, she’d have known I was working against her.”

David did not see the problem. “And how would that have made _any_ difference? You could have controlled her. Ended the threat before it had a chance to begin.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying not to picture the opportunities lost to them.

“I needed to know what she was after.” Regina repeated herself.

“I’ll be sure to explain that to Ruby if she ever wakes up.” David barely caught the flinch before the woman hid it beneath the cold expression she often favored.

“There was no guarantee it would have worked, anyway.” David crossed his arms, eyebrows rising in question. Regina chewed on a thought before answering. “Before the curse, I hired Hook to kill my mother.”

“That worked out well.”

“Clearly.” Regina met his sarcasm with her own. “He delivered her heart to me, and I assumed he was successful.”

A bit of realization dawned on David. “And since they’re working together now, it probably wasn’t her heart.”

“It was,” Regina said without a trace of doubt. “But that meant she wanted me to have it.”

“A sign of good faith?”

Regina scoffed. “Temptation. I’ve no doubt she had something protecting it.”

“So she wanted to be sure of your loyalties.” David laughed without humor, and rubbed at his temples to stave off a headache. Gods save him from these women. “What did she offer you?”

“Excuse me?” Regina seemed taken aback.

 

“You said it yourself. You both needed to feel the other out.” David leveled a hard look her way. “She trusted you enough with her heart, trap or not. She had to think you’d end up on her side.”

“You’d be better off leaving the heavy thinking to your wife,” Regina said and made to leave the vault. He grabbed her arm in a firm grip, jerking her to a stop. Regina studied the hand for a moment before turning a glare filled with cold fury his way. “Not enough,” she answered him in a low voice. The air around them felt charged with the promise of danger. David pressed on.

“And if it had been?” Her hands flexed and David braced himself for a fight.

“I don’t need your trust or faith, _Charming_.” She yanked her arm out of his grip and regarded him with an expression of mixed anger and… hurt? “Just be glad Emma is far wiser than you could ever hope to be.”

She turned and strode out of the vault with purposeful steps, leaving David feeling a curious combination of relieved and chastised as the pent up energy in the atmosphere dissipated. From her reactions, David could only believe Regina was on the level regarding her mother. He did not – and probably _could not_ – trust her completely, but he no longer doubted Regina was on their side.

For now.

He followed her out, only catching up to her at the mausoleum’s gate. Regina leaned against the stone portal, head held in both hands and what David could see of her face contorted with pain.

“You alright?” He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she did not recoil, which unnerved David more than her sudden change in demeanor.

“Wards.” She bit the word out through gritted teeth and David felt the adrenaline pump through his blood. He had his phone out and the convent’s number pulled up in a flash, but Regina grabbed his wrist before he could dial out. “Not magic,” she said and took several unsteady steps away from the tomb.

“How can you tell?” David caught up with her and held an arm to her back to help steady her. She did not acknowledge it, but picked up her pace.

“Because I’m not unconscious.”

David blinked in surprise and mild confusion. “How helpful could they be if they’d knock you out if Cora attacked?”

“The feedback is not supposed to be that strong.” There was a hesitation he had never heard in her voice that might have been a touch of embarrassment.

David put two and two together, having been in the former queen’s company since the _early_ morning hours at Emma’s request, and only just managed to keep the laughter from his voice with a sheer display of will. “Hangover not helping, I take it?”

The glare she leveled his way confirmed his guess.

“If not Cora, then who?” David asked after taking a moment to enjoy a rare reminder that Regina was as human as the rest of them.

“Someone without magic that holds ill intent towards me or the property,” Regina said as they reached her Mercedes. David felt a pang of longing for his truck as he climbed into the passenger side of the vehicle. “Who in town could possibly fit that description?” The sardonic question emphasized the position they were in, and David spent the trip trying to narrow down what or who to expect.

Fifteen minutes and several broken traffic laws later, Regina pulled to a stop at the end of Mifflin Street and killed the engine. The two traded a glance before moving out, and David let Regina take the lead. He pulled his gun and clicked the safety off as they moved through Regina’s neighbors’ backyards, and tried to ignore the instincts that wished he held a blade in its stead.

When they crossed Regina’s property line, David spotted the intruder standing in the middle of the yard with his back toward them. He moved to the crouch, tapping Regina’s shoulder as he did so, and she paused long enough to send a questioning look over her shoulder. He tapped a finger to his lips and then to his ear. She nodded her agreement and matched his stance.

The trespasser was remarkable in the fact that there was nothing about him that stood out as far as David could see. He was of average height and weight and his cropped hair highlighted more than hid the fact that he was balding. He wore boots, blue jeans, and a flannel jacket, and he held his head cocked to the side to keep a cellphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. The professional-grade camera the man held drew most of David’s curiosity.

The stranger’s conversation carried to them as they crept closer to him. “—to hide it. Just like I told you.” He snapped several photos and started side stepping to the right, eyes locked on his camera’s digital screen all the while. “Yes I’m absolutely sure.” He sounded exasperated. “How are things on your end?” He took more pictures while David assumed the person on the other line responded.

“Well go to him anyway,” he said with a begrudging sigh. “I’ve got a feeling it’s going to start moving soon.” He held the camera down, and David and Regina made it within ten feet of him. “You too,” the man said and lifted his head to its proper angle. The phone slipped off his shoulder, but he freed a hand to catch it.

David chose that moment. “Can I help you?” The mystery man jumped high enough to break the local track records and spun toward them. His face proved to be as average as the rest of him, with a rounded, clean shaven chin and dull brown eyes wide with a healthy amount of shock and fear as they darted between Regina, David, and the gun.

“Who are you?” Regina demanded and David shot the former mayor a surprised glance. Regina knew _everyone_ in Storybrooke. His heart dropped even as it sped up.

A stranger had come to Storybrooke.

“G-greg Mendell,” he stuttered, bringing his hands up to hold high. They shook so much David thought the camera might disassemble. David lowered his weapon and held out one hand in a placating gesture.

“Easy.” He holstered the gun and fished for a believable excuse, not wanting to reveal magic to someone native to this realm. It was a can of worms he did not relish the thought of opening. “We received a report of a stranger trespassing in the area.” The lie slipped off his tongue and he flashed his deputy’s badge. Greg’s body language eased up some and he let his hands come to his sides, but he still seemed ready to embrace the flight half of survival instinct. “Mind telling us what you’re doing here?”

David wracked his brain trying to figure out a solution to this new problem. They had spent so long trying to figure out how to get _out_ of the town, they had never considered the issue of someone else coming _in_.

“I’ve been driving all the way up the east coast. You know, doing the whole foliage spotting thing,” he said with a hesitant smile and a gesture toward his camera. “Just got into town an hour or so ago.”

“Doesn’t explain what you’re doing _here_.” Regina said, and David could see the wheels churning behind her eyes. A flush rose to Greg’s cheeks.

“Right, sorry. You see, I actually studied to be an architect in college.” He turned to point at the mayoral manor. “And _that_ , is a beautiful example of classic New England architecture.” Regina remained unmoved by his complement. “What is it? Eighteenth century? Early nineteenth?” He asked the question with an inflection of academic joy David was used to hearing from the dwarves when they spoke about their work.

Regina’s hard glare did not ease up, and Greg’s excitement bled away. “Look, I’m sorry for trespassing.” He hung the camera off a strap around his neck. “But sometimes I get so into things that I forget to _think_ about them.” He offered a half-hearted chuckle and gulped when neither of them responded in kind. “I can just be on my way. Head out to photo the foliage like I meant to. No harm, no foul. Right?”

“Absolutely not.” Regina narrowed her eyes at the man. “I take my privacy very seriously, Mr. Mendell.” The man’s mouth opened and closed without making a sound.

“Hang on,” David raised a hand to each of the other two in a placating gesture. “Could I see your camera, sir?” The man hesitated, but complied under the weight of Regina’s consistent glower. David took a few seconds to get familiar with the bulky equipment, but soon found the device’s history. Besides the pictures of Regina’s home from various angles, there was nothing but an outrageous number of pictures of trees in varying shades of yellows, reds, and oranges.

“Most of these are pretty well done,” David said as he handed the camera back to a grateful Greg. “But I couldn’t help but notice there were no pictures of yourself in there.”

The man let out a rueful laugh. “Curse of traveling alone.”

“The entire east coast on your own? Has to be pretty rough.”

He shrugged. “You get used to it. Plus the phones help.” He waved his cell to emphasize the point. “I hate to rush you, officer, but could I get out of here? The light’s great right now. Don’t want to miss it.”

“Deputy,” Regina said with an echo of her old commanding demeanor. “Arrest him.”

“What!?” Greg recoiled, face draining of color. “Sir, you can’t.”

“Regina,” David admonished. They had the barest of causes to do so and she had to have known that. “I’m sure this is all just an innocent mistake.”

“I don’t care,” Regina turned to him, eyes narrowed. “He broke the law, Deputy, now do your job.” Greg spluttered objections as David heaved a sigh and pulled his handcuffs off his belt. Other than constantly muttering how ridiculous the situation was, Greg did not resist as David secured the man’s hands behind his back and led him toward the cruiser he’d parked in Regina’s driveway that morning.

The former queen followed behind them, but did not speak until David shut Greg in the car, cutting off his mumbled objections.

“You need to find out everything about him,” she said the moment he turned to her. “Where he came from, how he got here, and what he wants.” David caught the hint of fear Regina tried to hide from her cadence.

“It’s possible he is what he says he is,” David said. “Without the border, it makes sense that people will stumble upon the town.”

“He set off the wards, Charming. That should be evidence enough.” David sighed, ceding the point.

“Locking him up isn’t going to solve anything,” he said. “He’ll be out in an hour as long as he can pay the fine.”

“It buys us time.” Regina’s attention focused on the man in the car. Greg watched them both with fearful eyes. He looked like he’d be afraid to harm a fly.

“Is there any way you can monitor him or something instead?” Regina blinked at him, surprised.

“That could work.” Her brows furrowed in consideration. “I’d need something of his.”

David had a flash of inspiration and pulled open the squad car’s door. “Greg. Working for you here, but I need the camera again, okay?”

“Not exactly in a position to argue,” Greg said with a sigh, his eyes lowered. David frowned and pulled the camera off the man’s neck and closed the door once again.

“Act like you’re looking through the pictures.” He handed Regina the camera. “And put your tracker on it.”

She looked mildly impressed. “Block his view.” David made sure his body covered the cruiser’s rear window. Regina wasted no time in popping out the camera’s SD card while pulling a blank coin from within her jacket. If David had not been looking for it, he may have missed the spell. The tiny memory stick glowed with purple light for no more than a heartbeat before it pulsed onto the coin and Regina returned the card to the camera.

“Wherever this goes,” she explained at his puzzled look while holding up the camera. “This coin will be able to find.” She stuffed it back into an inside pocket and shoved the camera his way. “I would still appreciate if you _discouraged_ him from coming anywhere near here.”

Without waiting for a reply, she spun on her heal and strode up the walkway toward the house.

“I’ll be back in ten,” he said and moved around the cruiser.

“Wonderful.” David considered the resurgence of sarcasm as a good sign.

His passenger remained silent as David pulled away from the mayoral manor, and did not make a peep all the way to Granny’s. When he pulled to a stop outside the bed and breakfast, Greg perked up.

“So I convinced her not to press charges,” David said to break the quiet. Greg seemed taken aback.

“Thank you,” he said. “Does that mean I’m free to go?” David heard the handcuffs strain against two quick yanks.

“Yes, but I’d recommend you avoid that part of town while you’re here.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” David studied Greg in the rearview. The man appeared nothing but earnest. “I should’ve known better,” he said. “All politicians get a bit paranoid about their private stuff.” David frowned, but left the car to let Greg out.

“Free to go.” David unlocked the handcuffs and handed him the camera. He shouldered the strap with a relived sigh.

“Thank you again, Deputy.” Greg said with a smile, massaging his free wrists. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Just keep your nose clean,” David said. “And enjoy the foliage.” Greg nodded with a wide smile and waved, setting off down the street. David watched as he went with a growing sense of foreboding.

How had the man known Regina was a politician?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! A heartless Belle wanders around undetected and a bumbling stranger falls onto David's and Regina's radar as several different threads from canon start to converge in (hopefully) unique and interesting ways. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed a peek into the minds of Once's most charming couple! I wanted to make it very clear: At their core, both David and Snow are good people. Self-righteous sometimes, overbearing at others, but overall _good._ We've seen David's PoV briefly before where I think that was clear, but Snow's was a new place for us to go.
> 
> Behind Emma and Regina's eyes, it's hard to make Snow sympathetic where we are now. Regina straight up doesn't like the woman, and Emma is still avoiding a confrontation with her emotions that she had to face much earlier in canon. Given Snow's PoV, though, should give a quick insight to where her state of mind is, and Archie is invaluable in helping to urge even the most stubborn of characters into opening their minds.
> 
> Next chapter will travel back to NY for a Henry PoV, setting up our next bit of action packed mayhem with some rising action of its own. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of the chapter! Good, bad, ugly?


	10. Neal I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, and welcome to Once Sunday! I haven't had a chance to watch the premiere yet, as I wanted to get this chapter finished tonight without the new season's premiere flavoring my outlook on the show at all. I've got it lined up to go, so I'll keep this initial note short and leave my remarks for the end.
> 
> (Edited and updated 11/14/2015)

Neal knew people. How to read them, to talk to them, to get them around to his way of thinking or figure out their next play before they did. With enough prep time, he felt confident he could be thrown into any situation and be able to talk his way out of it, but he found himself at a loss as he fell victim to speechlessness.

What could you possibly say to a kid after finding out he was your son?

Neal couldn’t come up with something, but forced his brain to work as the kid looked more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. _Alright Neal,_ he thought, _just start talking._

“So, what toppings do you want? Mushrooms, olives?” _Brilliant Cassidy. Just what the kid wants to talk about._ After a quick stop back at his apartment – avoiding his father on the way – to make himself _not_ look like a hobo fresh off the street, Neal offered to treat the kid to lunch, early as it was. The boy agreed readily enough, and Emma did not seem to have it in her to say no to him.

It didn’t stop her from following, though. Neal figured she and his father were a good couple dozen feet behind them. Far enough away to give the illusion of privacy, but close enough to come running.

The kid – _Henry_ , he repeated the name to himself, committing it to memory _–_ shrugged. “Never really had anything but pepperoni.” He looked up at the buildings in awe as they walked, and Neal wondered if he had ever been to a city before. He marked that as conversation possibility number two and adopted a scandalized tone.

“That’s it? Well this guy we’re going to see, Vinny, he can work magic with a brick oven. Anything you want to try from anchovies to pineapple, he can make it happen.”

Henry scrunched up his nose. “Pineapple?”

Neal chuckled. “I’ve seen weirder. Saw one guy ask for Oreos and fries on his.”

“That sounds gross,” Henry said with a grimace.

“Yeah, but you should’ve seen how happy he was when Vinny actually made it. He has a gift for making people’s days.”

“With pizza?”

“Gotta enjoy the little things, kid,” Neal said with a smile. Henry looked taken aback for a second before nodding.

They rounded the block next to Neal’s apartment and found Vinny’s pizzeria deserted. As good as he was, Neal mused, it wasn’t even eleven yet. It was a small place, taking up part of the first floor in a shorter than average high-rise. The front of house was simple, a dozen tiny tables that sat two a piece lined the wall alongside the building’s entrance made mostly of plexiglass windows, with the cash counter not five feet beyond. The wall behind was decorated with a mix of memorabilia from every New York sports team – even the _Liberty –_ which was only broken up by the door that led to the back of house.

Vinny was never in this early, but Neal heard at least one of his minions moving around in the kitchen. “So what’ll it be?”

“I think I should just stick with pepperoni…”

Neal acted shocked. “What? Where’s your sense of adventure? We’re all in new territory here, Henry. Go bold!” He held his hands wide, and his enthusiasm must have been infections because Henry grinned.

“Alright. What do you think is good?” Neal smiled, summoned Vinny’s cook, and went all in for an insane number of toppings. “What did you just order?” Henry asked after the pizza guy went back to the kitchen.

“Something very delicious and extremely unhealthy.”

Neal chose one of the tiny tables and brushed up on his small talking ability. From school (he enjoyed history), to hobbies (he was learning how to fight with a sword from his grandfather, _Prince Charming_ ), Neal kept the conversation light. Henry seemed to be a talker, content to get a topic and run with it with minimal prodding, and seemed more at ease with each passing moment.

The entire time he could see Emma and his father on the opposite side of the street, watching the restaurant. Neither looked thrilled.

It was when Henry’s eyes widened at the sight of their lunch, Neal decided he was enjoying himself as well.

“Don’t think my mom would let me have this,” Henry said even as he took a slice towering with every type of meat the dough could hold, grinning from ear to ear.

Amused, Neal said, “I never pictured Emma as someone who would be much of a disciplinarian.” He took his own slice and embraced heaven.

Henry swallowed a gargantuan bite. “I meant my other mom,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I’m pretty sure Emma would be all in on this.”

Neal blinked, mind firing off to several interesting conclusions. “Other mom?”

“Yeah,” he said around another mouthful of food. “She’s the mayor, or used to be before Emma broke the curse.” He considered for a moment. “You know about the curse, right?”

_Only what a crazy asshole on a motorcycle claimed_ , Neal thought. “A little,” he said instead, still caught up in the first revelation. “This _other_ mom. Are she and Emma… together?”

Henry furrowed his brows in confusion before realization clicked and his mouth formed an ‘O’ of recognition. “I don’t think so?” He asked more than said. “They didn’t really like each other for a long time, and only started talking because Cora’s after my mom and Emma wants to protect her. They are spending a lot of time with each other, though.” He shrugged, eyes going out of focus as he thought.

Neal grunted, getting more questions by the moment. “Who’s Cora?”

“My mom’s mom,” Henry said, coming back to earth. “Even Mr. Gold is afraid of her, at least a little bit.” Henry nodded toward Neal’s father, and Neal had to stop himself from cracking up at the pretentious pseudonym.

“I think you’re going to need to start at the beginning, kid. Might need a couple graphs and diagrams to wrap my head around this.”

Thirty minutes, a pizza, and a pair of sundaes later, and Neal was left wondering how Henry could possibly have made it to almost the age of twelve with as good a heart as he possessed.

“And what was your mother’s name?” Henry asked as he tried to fill out his family tree on an unfolded napkin.

“Milah.” Henry grinned and scribbled the name down just above Neal’s. He looked to his son in wonder.

Growing up in a town frozen in time where he was the only one that aged, living under the thumb of a woman who earned the title ‘Evil Queen,’ and having to be the one to not only bring Emma to the impossible town, but also convince her that magic was real and that she had a destiny?

“Henry,” he said, and the boy looked up from his drawing with his wide, inquisitive eyes. “You’re a good kid.” He grinned at the praise and bowed his head. Neal slid the family tree toward his side of the table and studied it, shaking his head. The thing was almost a circle at this point.

“So…” Henry spoke as Neal tried to wrap his head around the day he’d been having. “How did you and Emma meet?” He was glad that he was not looking at Henry in that second, because he could not stop the panicked expression from flickering across his features.

It was probably not a good idea to tell your kid that you met their mother when you both accidentally stole the same car.

“I think that story,” he said as he schooled his expression. “Is best left until later.” Henry pouted for a moment, but followed Neal’s example when he stood from their table. He slapped a pair of twenties on the counter. “But we should probably face the music.” He nodded toward Emma and his father, still standing across the way.

“Are you going to talk to him?” Henry asked in a hesitant tone. Neal shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his tone neutral.

“I don’t think he’s going to leave me much of a choice.”

“I think he’s just as nervous as you are.”

Neal grimaced. “Nervous isn’t the word I’d use.” Henry raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Then why are we just standing here?” Neal looked to his son with an empty chuckle. If there was an easy way to explain decades of simmering anger, frustration, and depression, Neal did not know it. Instead, he let Henry have the win and held the door open for the kid.

“Henry,” he said after spotting Emma’s anxious expression as they crossed the street. “Try not to hold Emma lying about me against her.” Henry’s hands balled into fists and he stared at his feet as they walked. “Ten years ago I did a bad thing, and I don’t think she ever thought she would see me again.”

Neal had thought the same.

“Doesn’t make it okay to lie. It doesn’t make her _right_.” Neal had to hand it to this former mayor slash evil queen. The kid had a well-developed set of morals.

“No,” Neal agreed. “But it makes her human.”

“Aren’t you mad?”

Neal chewed on the thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to word his answer. “Yes and no,” he said. “I’m upset that I didn’t know about you before, but I understand why Emma decided to give you up.” He rested a hand between his son’s shoulders. It unnerved him how natural the act seemed. “She was trying to give you your best chance. And that was not with me.”

Henry didn’t say anything as they reached the opposite sidewalk, but he did not shake away Neal’s hand, either.

“Hey,” Emma said in a quiet voice. Her shoulders sagged as she crossed her arms, looking every bit the frightened girl Neal knew once upon a time. The kid stayed quiet.

“Hey.” Neal returned, if only to fill the quiet. He nodded to the man behind Emma. “Papa,” he said in way of greeting. May as well start trying to set a good example for the kid.

“Bae…” His father’s tone echoed with a hundred different emotions, regret the most prominent of them all.

He swallowed bile. “Henry’s convinced me to give you a shot.” He ignored how his father’s entire demeanor brightened. “Where are you parked?”

“A garage. A couple miles from your home.”

_Twenty minutes, max,_ he thought and gathered his will. _You can do this._ “Lead the way.”

\---

They made it two blocks into the trip before Neal’s father figured out he was going to have to be the one to break the silence.

“Baelfire…” The Dark One mulled over with indecision. The brief sound of his father’s voice was enough for Neal to realize he did not want to hear it at all, and he forced himself to remember his kid – _his kid –_ was watching from not far behind them.

“Don’t know what to say? How many years has it been?” Neal had lost count with all the time that blended together when he was stranded on Neverland. “Never thought of an opening line? Some excuse?”

“I never stopped searching,” his father said, emphatic. “Every day… every _moment_ I spent searching for a way to find you. And I’ve _done_ it, Bae.” He reached out a hand toward Neal’s shoulder, but Neal jerked it away, drawing odd looks from several passersby.

“Seems to me that you could have made it a lot easier on yourself,” Neal said with a sneer. “If you chose your _son_ over your power.”

“I made a mistake.” He acknowledged, tone still earnest “The worst of my life. I wasn’t strong enough then, and I am truly _sorry_ , Bae.” The old man’s voice hitched with emotion, and Neal considered the possibility that he was being genuine. “But I’m here now, and you have a son yourself. We could be a family again.”

Neal glanced behind him to see Emma easing a few words from Henry and they had fallen a good dozen yards behind. A part of Neal that he longed to deny existed sparked in a mild hope, but he crushed it. He knew the Dark One too well. “Did you know? About Henry?”

“I knew the savior would return on her twenty-eighth birthday to break the curse. I had no idea she would have a child.” He cocked his head to the side with a smile. “Much less that that child would be yours.”

“What a coincidence,” Neal said, deadpan.

“The strings of fate can be fickle things.” His father agreed with a tight, wry grin. “Henry is the one that convinced Emma to come to Storybrooke in the first place. His unending faith in magic was the only reason she was able to _believe._ In a way, he is responsible for our reunion.”

“And if he knew the entire story, I doubt he would have wanted to bring us together.” Neal laughed a dour chuckle. “I’m curious what you’ve had to do, what evils you’ve committed, all in the name of returning to the son you abandoned.”

“I did whatever I had to do,” his father said. There was no hesitation from the man, a sign of surest confidence of having done the right thing. “And I don’t regret a moment of the time I’ve spent making up for my failing.”

Neal shook his head, sick to his stomach. “Of course not,” he said. “Henry mentioned that you still have your powers. Is that true?”

The man nodded, his brief burst of confidence waning. “As long as I remain in the confines of Storybrooke, I do possess my magic, yes.”

“Must’ve been a wonderful thing in your head.” Neal said, barely keeping a rising anger in check. “Keeping your magic _and_ finding your son welcoming you back with open arms? One hell of a dream, Papa.”

“Son—“

“No.” Neal put a hand to his father’s chest, bringing them both to a stop. For a split second, an expression of sheer incredulity crossed his father’s features. “Don’t even bother. You haven’t changed, Papa.”

“You aren’t even giving me a chance, Bae.” His father was the picture of desperate frustration, fidgeting with his cane.

“My name is _Neal_.” He was acutely aware of Henry and Emma catching up, wearing matching pensive expressions. “And I stopped being your son the moment I landed in London without a father.” He made to stride away, but his father’s cane hooked around his arm. He could have broken the hold with ease, and in a flash of petulant immaturity he considered yanking the cane away entirely. He pushed it back as he felt Henry’s eyes on him.

He met his father’s eyes, and the man spoke with shades of the man Neal once knew shining through. “You never stopped being my son. Do you want to know how I know?”

He paused, a silent prompt for Neal to ask, but he remained silent and his father continued on, unperturbed by the lack of response.

“You are a _survivor_. You were little more than a child, thrust into a world so very different from our own. The odds were against you, but you found a way.” His father grinned a smirk of pride. “Even as the years flowed past until a mortal man would have perished; even as I watched entire generations come and go; I never once doubted that I would find you whole and well. And here you are.”

“Not by choice,” Neal said, trying to block out the memories of Pan’s hell from resurfacing. “It wasn’t something I tried to do. It just… happened.” He started moving again rather than stand under three sets of curious eyes. “And I would have traded it all,” he said, making sure his voice would carry. “For the life we would have had.”

“We could have that still.” His father rushed to catch up, cane thumping in rhythm with his quick gait. “You just have to be willing to give me a chance.”

Neal sighed and glanced back once again. Henry seemed to have taken his advice and was chattering at Emma again, though the woman still looked off her game. A bundle of old emotions rose to the surface at the sight, but Neal simply didn’t have the brainspace to process them at the moment.

“You’ve done nothing,” he said, turning his attention forward. “But go further down the path that caused all of this in the first place.” He shook his head. “There’s no reason for me to trust that you’ve changed.” He looked his father in the eyes as he finished, hoping to drive his point home. “Once you get back in that car and leave New York, we’re done.”

The man’s frown deepened with every passing word with the lines aging his face standing out, scars of time gone by. When he spoke, Neal had to wonder if the words tasted as bitter as they sounded. “You will come around.” Neal could not help the laugh that bubbled up. Sharp eyes cut toward him. “You will doubtlessly wish to be a part of Henry’s life.”

“And you have no way of stopping it,” Neal said.

The man’s brows rose in surprise. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He almost sounded insulted. “But in order to be part of Henry’s life.” He held up his free hand, palm skyward. “You will have to come to Storybrooke.” He flipped his hand, fingers splayed. “And I will be there, always.”

“I’m sure I can manage without seeing you.”

“But Henry is a curious boy,” he said with a cheerful edge to his voice. The hairs on the back of Neal’s neck stood on end. “And he just found out that I’m his grandfather.” He glanced behind them, eyes soft. “He’ll have questions, I’m sure.”

“You’re blackmailing me.” Neal wondered if it was a good thing he could even be surprised anymore.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, but I know Henry, and I know his heart.” He smiled. It was a vicious thing, and Neal had only ever seen it after the power had taken his father. “And he will seek to repair our shattered bond, no matter how long it takes.” Neal attempted to think of a retort, but his thoughts grinded to a halt at the sight that greeted them as they turned the corner.

Glass was scattered all over the sidewalk and street, all having been knocked out the windows of older car straight from the nineties. From the distance, Neal could see two of its tires had been slashed open until the tread had been ripped completely from the wheel well. From the way the car leaned, he assumed the other pair had received the same treatment.

“Let me guess,” Neal said, embracing the shit show that was his morning. “That’s your car.”

“Yes.” His father’s face was set in a scowl and he stalked forward with the _thunk-thunk_ of his cane striking against asphalt in a rhythm matching his purposeful pace.

Emma and Henry came around the corner a moment later and stopped in their tracks. Emma took one look at the situation before her body language morphed from weary anxiousness to hyper aware and ready for conflict. “Stay close behind me Henry,” she said while reaching to the small of her back. Neal heard the _snap_ of a metal latch being released and his eyebrows raised in surprise.

He hadn’t realized she’d been packing.

She didn’t draw the weapon, but held it in a feather-light grip as she stepped past him, cutting him a sideways glance but otherwise not acknowledging his presence. Henry followed his mother with no hesitation in his steps. Only his wide eyes and flexing hands gave away his anxiousness.

With a shake of his head and little in the way of choices, Neal jogged after them. None of the other cars lining the sidewalk had been touched, which meant personal. Neal’s father had brought one of his enemies here with him. Someone with one hell of a grudge, he supposed, as the damage seemed worse the closer they got to the relic.

It was a shame too. His father did not lack for taste, and Neal figured the old Caddy might have been quite something before the beating

The tires had been slashed and long, shallow cuts covered the entire vehicle’s body. The mirrors were nowhere to be seen, and the word ‘CROCODILE’ had been carved across the hood. Emma saw the word and immediately began scanning their surroundings.

Neal thought he would be immune to surprises, but the bottom of his stomach still fell out. “Hook’s here too?”

“You know Captain Hook?” Henry asked, surprised.

“Another one of those long stories, kid. “ Neal reached a careful hand into one of the cuts, testing its depth and edge. It had been made by a sword. Likely a cutlass, he judged from the depth and angle. “Let’s just say Neverland isn’t what Disney makes it out to be.” Henry’s eyes went to the size of saucers as he muttered ‘Neverland is real…’ under his breath.

His father recoiled at the mention of the realm and stared at him, rivaling his grandson’s expression. “You were in Neverland?” Neal was put off by the mild panic in the man’s voice, but nodded. “Baelfire…” That way he said the name held the most genuine regret Neal had ever heard from the Dark One.

“Can we reminisce later?” Emma spun in a slow circle, having drawn her gun. “We need to get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Henry asked.

“I get the feeling we don’t have the time.” Her eyes darted from building to building, alley to alley.

“And what makes you think that, Miss Swan?” His father shook himself from his surprise and cast his gaze around with a cool precision.

“Because we’re the only ones on the street, and it’s the middle of the day in New York City.” Neal blinked, disbelieving, but Emma was right. The street his father had parked on was far from the bustling heart of New York - the buildings didn’t exceed about ten stories and were mostly marked as office residential use, but there was _no_ activity. “Any idea how he managed to leave the town, Gold?” Emma asked, still keeping her head on a swivel.

“He was never affected by the original curse. It stands to reason he doesn’t have to deal with the side effects.”

Emma cursed and jogged toward the alley across the way in a burst of urgent motion. Neal hurried after her, finding her kneeling next to a short, heavyset man lying face down on the asphalt, his red knit hat flopping in the breeze. The rest of him was completely motionless as Emma checked for a pulse.

“Is he okay?” Henry asked, his voice small. He stood just behind Neal, his young face pale. Neal put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The kid did not seem to notice.

“Just knocked out, I think.” Emma grunted as she hoisted herself back up, looking further down the alleyway. “There’s more down there.” Neal could make out at least a dozen people passed out, their positions making it look like someone had dragged them into a haphazard pile. The sight sent a chill down his spine.

“That’s... not natural,” he said.

“How could he have done it?” Henry asked.

“Magic, most likely.” the Dark One limped up and glanced toward the piled bodies with a light grimace. He tapped the shawl he wore. “He must have stolen some artifact and brought it with him.”

“Your shop?” Emma asked the man.

“Impossible,” he said without hesitation.

“Then _where_ could—” Emma cut herself off, shaking her head and shouldering past them back onto the street. “Doesn’t matter,” she said and braced both hands on her gun. “We need to get back to Neal’s apartment. At least get somewhere public.”

“We can’t just leave them here!” Henry’s voice raised more in surprise than anger. “We’ve got to help them!” Emma stopped short, her eyes locked on the ground at her feet. She did not answer, and Neal knew she had to be trying to figure out how to explain to the kid she was putting his wellbeing above those of strangers.

“That wouldn’t be the heroic thing to do, would it, Savior?” A voice Neal had not heard in decades called out in time with two gray screens of light that zipped across the street five feet away from them on both sides like a fire down a fuse. The faint hum of active magic persisted even after the light faded.

Neal made the leap of logic that they were trapped and ancient instincts grumbled and protested as he tried to pull them to the surface. He began to stretch as subtly as he could manage, limbering up for a fight.

“Fairy dust,” his father said in disgust.

“Hook!” Emma shouted, backing closer to Henry to put herself between him and the source of the voice. “Rethink what you’re doing here, we’ve got you outnumbered!” Neal closed ranks alongside her, scanning the area and trying to spot the pirate.

“You know,” he spoke to calm his fight or flight nerves. “I was having a pretty good week.” Nobody acknowledged him as Hook poked his head out of the door to the building across the way. Emma had her gun trained on him in a split second and Hook pulled back.

“I’d advise you take the shot the moment you have it, Miss Swan.” His father spoke with a forced calm and Neal was curiously reminded of the days before his fourteenth birthday, when the soldiers had threatened to take him away. “He will not show mercy, I suggest you extend the same courtesy.”

Neal recognized it as a trace of fear; something he had not seen from the man since before he had taken up the dagger.

“All things considered, I’d rather not have to shoot anyone today.” She spoke quietly but firmly before turning up the volume. “You’ve got no play here, Hook!”

“That is where I disagree!” Hook stepped into the doorway, but he wasn’t alone. He had a brunette held in front of him, her arms pinned behind her back and his hook pressed underneath her chin. She had been gagged by a length of rope, and her brown eyes shone with fear as Hook marched them down the stoop and onto the road with slow steps until he and Emma stood on opposite sidewalks. A pair locked in a high noon duel.

The woman’s long, grey-blue tunic fluttered in the breeze at her ankles, and Neal recognized it as a habit. Incredulous, Neal wondered how in the hell Hook had found a _nun_ to hold hostage.

Emma cursed under her breath in a steady stream, stepping forward again. Her gun did not waver, but the woman Hook held hostage stood only a few inches shorter than him. There was no way Emma would get a clean shot.

“Let her go, Hook.” The steel in Emma’s voice brooked no argument.

The pirate laughed. “I’ve always found the use of ranged weaponry in these situations as a type of cowardice,” he said. “Perhaps if you tossed yours over the barrier, we could discuss a friendly trade.” He wore a jaunty grin.

“Not happening.” Emma took another step forward and braced herself in a shooter’s stance, legs wide and shoulders square. The nun’s eyes widened as Hook’s jovial expression fell.

“Now that would be plain foolish,” he said. He traced the point of his hook up his hostage’s jawline until it looped around the gag. He yanked it free and the nun yelped as the rope’s violent motion abraded her pale skin. “Tell her just how bad of an idea that would be, love.”

The nun didn’t speak, from defiance or fear Neal could not guess.

“Has he hurt you at all, Nova?” Emma asked, eyes not leaving the three inches of Hook’s exposed head. Neal blinked in surprise.

“You know her?” That made the situation all the trickier.

“I-I’m not Nova. Why does everyone keep calling me that?” _Apparently not_ , Neal concluded. The nun shivered as Hook’s cold steel pressed into her neck again. She squeezed her eyes shut and Neal spotted a few tears leak out. “Sheriff please, I don’t even know what’s going on. I woke up _hogtied_ on a godforsaken _pirate_ _ship._ ”

“Shit,” Emma muttered, wincing with regret shining in her eyes.

“The curse…” Henry said, the picture of fear, anger, and sadness.

“Sister Astrid.” The hostage’s gaze snapped to focus at the name and she looked to Emma in desperation. “I’m getting you out of this.” Neal felt lost at the back and forth.

“Heartwarming,” Hook said, jerking Astrid tighter against him. “The _weapon_ , Swan, or I open up her throat.”

“You do that and you get a bullet between the eyes.” Emma’s words were ice. “You’d get to die knowing Rumplestiltskin outlived you.”

“Emma--” Henry sounded incredulous, but Emma cut him off with a sharp shush before he continue. The kid fell quiet, and Neal noticed him shaking. Despite everything, Neal figured the kid’s life had been relatively mundane. Seeing his innocence shatter was not something the former vagabond wished to see.

Neal repositioned himself to block the kid’s view entirely.

“I had the suspicion you might be difficult, Swan, but I always come prepared.” Neal braced himself for more magic or another form of trickery, but Hook made no move. He just stared between Emma and his target with his cocksure grin unwavering.

The crunch of glass behind them was their only warning.

The four of them whirled around to find the red-capped man very much _awake_ with a sword flying toward Emma’s face mid-swing. A moment of panic froze Neal in place as old fighting instincts clawed their way back to the surface. They did not come in time to help his ex.

Emma tried to bring her weapon around, but the man was far too close for her to aim and her desperate shot missed its mark, shattering a car window across the way.

“Smee?” Neal’s father seemed frozen as well, eyes wide.

Henry reacted faster than any of them and saved his mother’s life.

Smee had chosen poor angle of attack and leaned most of his mass forward in a power swing above Henry’s head, so when the kid kicked the man’s shin with all his might, Smee’s leg flew out from under him and pitched him to the left. Smee yelped in surprised pain, his battle face melting into shock as he tumbled forward. His slice went fell short of its mark, cutting along Emma’s arm rather than cleaving her face in two.

“Fuck!” Emma cursed and hissed in pain as scarlet bloomed through the brown leather of her jacket, her gun falling to the asphalt as she gripped the wound with her good hand out of instinct. Neal’s mind _finally_ flipped into action mode even as his father started wailing on the downed Smee with his cane, earning high pitched cries from the ambusher.

Neal took quick stock of their position and found Hook charging at them with his cutlass drawn, the nun laying in a heap on the ground behind him. Neal reached for Emma’s fallen gun and brought it up to aim, but the metal was heavy and foreign in his hands, his grip clumsy. Hook ducked and rolled at the sight of the weapon, and Neal couldn’t track the pirate fast enough as he closed the gap quicker than Neal expected.

Hook took a page out of Henry’s book and drove his shoulders into Neal’s legs below the knee. Neal had no hope of keeping balance and tried to throw out his hands to brace himself, but the ground rushed up too quickly for him and his face became well acquainted with the asphalt, his head snapping back from the whiplash.

The world blurred around him and he tried to roll over, but Neal received a shallow slash across the back for his troubles.

“Stay _down_ , Baelfire.” Neal knew he was concussed as his brain registered regret in the pirate’s voice. He groaned his protest and tried to move again, but a sharp kick from Hook had Neal’s forehead whacking against the concrete again.

Nausea joined his splitting headache and burning back for dominance in Neal’s extravaganza of pain.

He did not move for a good minute after the blow, trying to urge his brain into some semblance of functionality and gather his thoughts. When he finally got all his extremities to listen to his command to _roll over_ , his blurred vision spotted Emma using Smee’s sword, giving ground as she tried to go blow for blow with the pirate. Neal’s addled mind could make out rivulets of blood flowing off Emma’s right arm as she hugged it close to her chest.

Neal’s heart sunk as three quick strikes drove Emma closer and closer to where the Dark One stood over an unconscious or dead Smee, Henry held firmly behind him even as the boy struggled to go help his mother. Neal managed to get himself up to one steady knee.

The outcome of the fight was already decided, and they all knew it. Emma was losing a worrying amount of blood and fighting with her off hand. Neal had seen Hook in action against enemies with much more skill than Emma’s awkward and wild strikes and he had always made it look easy. The pirate batted away Emma’s sword after a sloppy attack and stopped to taunt her.

Neal hauled himself up to wobbly feet and used every ounce of his will to trudge one foot in front of the other.

The process repeated itself several times, but, to Emma’s credit, she managed to keep herself between Hook and his true target after every repartee of steel, and whatever words she used to spit back at the man between each kept his interest on her. She grew paler and slower with every passing moment, and when Hook finally chose to end the show, she could not stop it. She overextended and he knocked the sword from her hand with a strike of the flat of his blade against her wrist. A moment later the curve of his hook struck Emma across the jaw in a vicious backhand.

He said something to her as she flailed to the ground, a devilish grin on his face, before he turned his attention to Neal’s father. The man stood without an ounce of fear in his expression, the picture of defiance. Henry raced out from behind him and toward the fallen Emma, her name shouting from his lips.

Neal forced himself to move faster, within a dozen feet of the pair now.

His father tried to lash out at Hook with his cane, but Hook caught the blow on his blade and struck the Dark One on his bad leg, sending the man to his knees, cane tumbling off to the side.

Hook laughed. “The mighty Dark One, on his knees before me.” He raised his hook until the light of noontime sun gleamed off its steel. He stared at it with an almost loving look. “A quick death would be far from enough for you, Crocodile. I’m told this poison is _excruciating._ ” Hook met eyes with Neal’s father. “And _incurable_.”

His father sneered in defiance, not offering Hook the satisfaction of last words. Hook laughed at the sight, loud and victorious, and moved to drive the hook home.

In that moment, some distant part of Neal’s mind knew the Dark One about to get his comeuppance; that Hook’s quest for revenge may have been justified. The louder, more primal part that drove him only knew one thing: His papa was about to be killed.

Neal stumbled more than lunged, but neither of the men had paid any heed to his approach. He fell in between the two, and screamed as cold steel stabbed into his upper back, digging out a jagged section of flesh as gravity did its work. He hit the ground, unable to register anything but the blinding pain in his back and the burning _wrongness_ that seemed to flow hot through his veins.

“Bae…” His father’s voice was a distant whisper and, as three sharp _barks_ of gunfire sounded, Neal felt the darkness take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know at the end of last chapter I mentioned this one was going to be a Henry PoV, but I found that he simply knew too much for the first half of the chapter, and way too little for the second half. Neal fit the bill better, and offered a perfect viewpoints for the events of this chapter. 
> 
> That said, how'd you enjoy being in his head? I know a good portion of Swen (and the fandom in general) is not fond of the vagabond, but I find his redeeming qualities are interesting enough to explore. He's a great counterpoint to everyone else in the show as someone who is more mundane than most of the rest - age not withstanding.
> 
> So what do you think will happen to him? I'm curious as to your thoughts. The end of this "Manhattan" arc was quite a bit more chaotic than in canon, mostly due to the fact that I made sure Hook had an actual, you know, _plan_ going in. A lot of details are left off the page here to be figured out. Let me know what you think happened!
> 
> (Next chapter is definitely Regina, btw)


	11. Regina III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome to what turned out to be a very much transition-y chapter! A lot of resolution and set up in this one as we turn up the heat and sprint ever closer to the end of this arc. Lots of threads to tie together, which means lots of fun chaos for our characters to deal with. Enjoy!
> 
> (Edited and updated 11/16/2015)

Regina wet the end of her finger and flipped a page in her notebook, skimming over her talking points with a halfhearted ambition to put them to memory. The worn leather of her chair became more comfortable with each passing second, making it all the difficult to bring her attention to focus. A faint headache threatened on the edge of her awareness and she let her eyes drift closed.

“It’s a bold strategy,” her self-appointed political adviser said. “But I’m not sure how well falling asleep on the job will go over with the average voter.” Regina took her time in responding to the woman, taking solace in the brief moment of respite while she could.

Kathryn sat across from her, thumbs tapping away at her phone with reckless abandon. “Jim thinks the Hogg brothers are a sure thing,” she said after a particularly satisfied press of her thumb, and set the phone down. Amusement glittered in her blue eyes. “With them locked down, you’re almost definitely going to win the anthromorphic bloc.”

“I suppose opposable thumbs are enough to forgive being cursed into becoming butchers.” Regina mused with a small amount of surprise.

“Really went for the irony on that one, didn’t you?” Kathryn laughed and then arced her back over her chair, stretching. Regina watched observed the woman for a moment before she took the opportunity to rest her eyes again, wishing nothing more than to curl up as the light of the setting sun warmed the back of her neck.

“I’m telling you something is going on, brother!” Regina snapped out of her moment of pure relaxation as her Sheriff appointed escort entered her office with another new _guest_ that would not have been within miles of her home on an average day. “They won’t even open the door to the public today.” Leroy wrung his hat in his hands, the early evening light gleaming off his bald head.

Charming closed his eyes and Regina saw him mouth numbers as he mentally counted to five. “Like I said last night Leroy.” He turned and braced his hands on the dwarf’s shoulders. “I called the convent and spoke to Blue. Everyone’s accounted for.”

Color rose in Leroy’s cheeks, from anger or embarrassment Regina could not discern. He glanced to her and Kathryn and leaned toward David, lowering his voice but failing to keep her from hearing it. “We’ve been meeting every day since… you know.” His blush darkened and Regina blinked in disbelief.

How did she get to the point that the business of an illicit love affair between a dwarf and a fairy ended up in her home office and she was not even surprised?

“Now she’s missed two nights in a row. You’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”

David frowned, hesitant before speaking. “And you’re sure things didn’t… end?” Leroy bristled, rising up to his full height.

“Not the right call.” Kathryn muttered just quiet enough so only Regina heard. She quirked her lip in amusement.

“Yes, I’m sure.” The words came laced with restrained anger and David held up his hands in a placating manner. “Even if things went bad – which they _aren’t_ ,” Leroy said with the absolute certainty of someone speaking truth or lost in denial. “Nova would never just stop talking to me. She’s better than that.”

Having met the awkward but cheerful fairy, Regina felt obliged to agree with the dwarf’s judgment of her character. It helped that she spotted a way for her to be rid of the man who had been her shadow the entire day. As worried as she was regarding the looming threat of her mother, Regina could not fathom remaining sane in Charming’s constant company much longer.

“That woman has always kept fairy affairs close to the chest.” She said, standing and hating the loss of the comfort her seat offered. Charming and Leroy looked to her, surprised and suspicious respectively. “It’s possible if something has happened that she is trying to keep it under wraps.”

“You see, brother. Even _she_ agrees.” David regarded Leroy’s beseeching face and sighed.

“Or she found out about you two and doesn’t approve.” Leroy’s head snapped in Kathryn’s direction, but she held up her hands as if to stave off his sudden anger. “Just saying,” she said. “Mother Superior had control issues.” Regina held back a scoff at the understatement.

“Either way,” Leroy said, his voice rough. “We need to get to the bottom of this.” David studied the dwarf, and Regina could hear the gears turning beneath his thick skull. Duty to his daughter weighing against wanting to help ease his friend’s worries.

She made the decision easier for him. “ _Go_ , Charming.” He moved to argue, but she held up a hand. “The wards work, and, frankly, you’re doing nobody any good here.” He stood taller as he took insult. “You’re the _only_ active deputy.” She reminded him. “Go. Calm minds. Keep peace.”

“Fine,” he said at length, running a hand along the back of his neck. “If anything even _remotely_ suspicious happens, call me or Snow.” Regina held back her incredulous laugh for the sake of avoiding further argument. Who said she couldn’t be diplomatic when needed? David addressed the blonde, “Kathryn, mind staying until I get back?”

Kathryn held up a hand in the ‘A-Okay’ sign even as Regina objected. “I am capable of taking care of myself.” She could not remember the last time she had any proper amount of time alone (time spent in a panicked state of inebriation notwithstanding). She had not realized how much she missed her time to herself until a full day with David as a companion – talkative and opinionated as he was.

The deputy and Leroy took their leave, the shorter man mumbling something under his breath the entire way. Their departure harkened the return to the sense of privacy her home once had. The only guest she had actually welcomed into the manor that day stood to her feet, checking her watch.

“What do you think, give them a five minute lead before I can go without raising alarm bells?” She grinned and Regina felt a rush of appreciation for the woman. She could not being to understand Kathryn’s acceptance of Regina’s past wrongs, but she was grateful for it nonetheless.

“I think that ought to be enough.” She flipped her notebook closed and dropped it on the desk, tired of _its_ company as well. She traced a hand down its worn cover, her notes floating through her mind of their own will despite her tiredness.

“You’ll do well,” Kathryn said, gathering her jacket and slipping it on. Regina flicked her eyebrows in doubt.

“If nobody tries to stone me on stage, I’ll considerate a success.” Kathryn let out a soft laugh. “A debate less than week after everything was put into motion,” Regina continued. “Midas certainly went into this with a plan.”

“We’ve already knocked it off course,” Kathryn said. “Now you just have to completely derail it.”

“Easier said.” On her desk, her phone’s display lit up as it scuttled a short distance with a pair of quick vibrations. The moment Regina saw the sheriff’s name on screen, she snatched the device up and answered. “Tell me you’ve found Gold’s spawn and are bringing our son back to Storybrooke, Sheriff,” she said by way of greeting.

Kathryn gave a cheerful wave and muttered ‘goodbye,’ leaving the room.

“Mom!” Henry’s voice greeted her rather than Emma’s, laced with the loud rush of panic. Regina’s heart skipped several beats as dozens of scenarios played through her mind’s eye.

“Henry? What’s wrong?”

“You need to get a couple ambulances down to the docks, now! Mr. Gold says we’re almost at the magical border and he can teleport the ship without getting everyone hurt worse, and they need _help_.”

Regina could not process his quick chatter properly. “Are _you_ okay?” She demanded, hand shaking in a clasped fist.

“Yes!” He said, impatience bleeding through his desperate tone. “But Emma and my dad and Sister Astrid and Hook all _aren’t_.”

_Dad!?_ Regina’s breath hitched on the word, and a thousand questions burned in her head, demanding answers, but she killed them on her tongue and collected herself to a focus. Her son needed her and her confusion and fear took a backseat.

“I need you to start from the beginning,” she said, grabbing her jacket off her chair and yanking it on.

He gave her an obviously shortened play by play of the day’s events, and her stomach turned with each additional detail. When he finished, she longed to introduce Rumplestiltskin to a new realm of pain. “And then Mr. Gold made Mr. Smee bring us to Hook’s ship and it turns out he knows how to sail, and we’re almost back.”

“I’ll get everyone in place,” she said, forcing herself to remain in problem solving mode. “Let me know the _moment_ you cross the border.” Her son gave a quick affirmative and the line clicked dead. Regina took a single, brief moment to gather her composure.

It seemed her son had a knack of leaving town and bringing back wayward parents. She wished she had the proper time to figure out the tumult of emotions she felt, but fate seemed determined to not give her any respite. She let out a harsh breath and pushed herself forward.

She had someone else’s mess to clean up.

\---

Regina managed to gather all four EMTs, both ambulances, a worrying Snow and her husband, a grim-faced Belle, and the pining dwarf in the twenty minutes since Henry made his call. All were watching the horizon as the _Jolly Roger –_ missing the main mast and sail - loomed ever closer at an agonizing pace, their expressions ranging from disbelief to outright worry. When the remaining sails drew down and the ship lost speed, the others looked between themselves in confusion.

“Get ready,” Regina said, hands flexing, her magic held just beneath the surface. Crimson smoke surrounded the vessel and the air thundered to fill the void as the ship disappeared. It rematerialized by the docks a heartbeat later with another echoing _boom_ of misplaced air

Henry leaned over the side the moment the magic dissipated. “Hurry!” He called as the gangplank slid over the edge of its own accord and thumped against the dock. Regina broke the surprised inaction and raced onto the ship. Footfalls echoed as the others raced behind her.

“Here,” Gold said from somewhere to her right, but Regina only had eyes for her son. She ran to him and checked him from head to toe with a critical eye, ignoring his protests. His jacket and pants were scuffed up, his hair a mess, and his scarf was missing, but he appeared otherwise in the same condition as when he had left.

A weight lifted off her chest and she breathed easier. Convinced her son was no worse for wear, she snaked her arms around him and held him tight. His warmth comforted her and anchored her back to reality. After far too short a time, Regina released her son from the hug and turned to study the situation as a whole. One pair of EMTs were taking the weight of a man off Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder, his feet dragging listlessly between them. His ashen, sweaty appearance did not bode well for his health.

Nor did the look of abject desperation and fear on the Dark One’s face. Regina blinked, startled. It was the truest emotion she had ever seen cross his visage. Belle lingered at his shoulder, but her touch and quiet words seemed to have no effect on the man.

“So that’s his son,” Regina said. She saw Henry nod out of the corner of her, but her son remained quiet as the medics dragged the man down the gangplank. Regina studied him as they passed, surprised by how average the man seemed. Typical height, short dark hair, unremarkable features that may have leaned towards handsome on a better day. She did not see much of Rumplestiltskin in him.

Her stomach twisted as her mind worked of its own accord and processed who he _did_ resemble. She wrapped an arm around Henry once more, instinct telling her to mark him as _hers_.

Gold and Belle followed hot on the medics’ heals. Regina locked eyes with Rumple for a brief moment before they stepped overboard, and past his anguish she saw the same understanding she had just come to.

Irony of ironies, but they were _family_ now, however tenuous the relation.

How absurd.

She shook the thought away and found the second pair of medics kneeling on either side of Hook, who laid sprawled out on the deck, unconscious and with his left leg and arm wrapped in torn sections of his own clothing, drenched crimson. She sneered at the sight, a new level of loathing developing for the man as his foolish quest left people she cared about in danger.

She repressed the urge to tear his heart out and relieve Hook of his miserable existence.

“Regina.” Though soft-spoken, the voice was firm and carried over the wind, drawing her attention. Emma leaned inside the doorway leading below deck, her left arm shaking as she used it to brace herself on the frame. Henry’s scarf wound around her right – the same one the giant had dislocated, Regina noted with a frown - from forearm to shoulder, the grey stripes having disappeared as blood stained them to match the red. Worry flittered unbidden through her as she took in the Sheriff’s state.

She had foregone her typical jacket and sweater, leaving her at the mercy of late autumnal winds in nothing but her tank top and jeans. A harsh bruise covered the left side of jaw, the rest of her skin ghostly pale, and her eyes were lined red with restrained emotion.

“Emma!” Before Regina could make a move, Snow and Charming stepped onto the deck and ran to their daughter after a single glance. David put Emma’s good arm over his shoulders and supported her weight while Snow fretted over Emma’s wrapped injury, fingers hovering an inch above the cloth as if she were unsure whether to unwrap it to check the wound for herself.

Emma did not object to the attention, relief cracking through her guarded features. Regina’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but attempted to remain focused on solving the current problem before wondering about the Savior’s mental state.

“Where’s the fairy?” Regina asked her son, but was unable to tear her eyes away from the familial display.

“Below deck, sleeping,” Henry said. “Mr. Smee’s down there too, but he’s, uh, tied up.” Regina wondered when Hook had had time to find any of his old crew. She squeezed her son’s shoulder and led him to his other mother and grandparents, idly noting the EMTs loading Hook onto a stretcher with the help of the dwarf as they passed, their expressions grim.

“I’ve seen worse,” Snow was saying as they approached. She peeled back Henry’s scarf to reveal the bloody slash marring pale skin. The wound had closed, but it seemed a tenuous thing.

“Regina,” Emma repeated, her voice still that odd combination of faint and firm. ”Heal it.”

“We’ve gone over this Emma, I don—”

“I don’t care.” Heat entered the savior’s tone as she shoved the wounded arm toward Regina with a grimace as blood flowed anew. “I’m sick of being on the defensive all the time, and if we’re going to take the fight to your mother, I need to be at a hundred percent.” Crimson flowed over the limb in multiple rivulets, speeding up every time Emma so much as twitched.

“Emma…” Worry laced Snow’s voice, but she did not outright object to her daughter’s demand. Charming stood, silent and unwavering.

“Fine,” Regina said, letting her annoyance bleed into the word. She was convinced to try not by the seriousness of the wound, but the intense hazel gaze Emma held on her, beseeching and demanding. “It’s going to scar.” She warned, and Emma gave a jerky nod. Regina took the wounded arm in her hands, studying it.

It had been almost three decades since Regina had seen someone wounded by a sword, even longer in seeing such an injury close up. To her untrained eye, the cut seemed to be clean. Two sections, a half foot long apiece, were separated by a hands-width of clear skin along the inside of her elbow. She could not judge the depth well, but Regina had the unsettling suspsicion she could see the woman’s muscle through the blood.

“You look green,” Emma noted, her lips quirking up in a smile that more resembled a grimace as she began to shiver. Regina hoped it was from the cold and not a sign of shock.

“Quiet, Sheriff.” Regina placed a gentle hand on Emma’s bicep, trying her best to ignore the sensation of warm blood flowing beneath her fingers. She licked her lips, trying to bring together her fears, angers, and frustrations to bear into formable will.

“Just saying,” Emma said after her breath hitched at Regina’s touch. The former queen lessened the pressure of her grip as much as she could while still keeping contact with the woman’s skin, trying to minimize the pain she could not avoid causing. “You used to rip out people’s hearts. This should be nothing compared to that.”

Regina saw the jibe for the defense mechanism it was and fueled the annoyance it sparked into her magic rather than a biting response. Her will coalesced and coiled, ready to strike, and she pictured her intention in her mind’s eye with a sharp intensity before releasing the pent up energy.

Regina witnessed a healer’s magic only once in person. The process had been slow, careful, methodical in every sense of the word as the wound stitched itself back together inch by agonizing inch, leaving unblemished flesh behind. Rumplestiltskin had seemed an artist at work, each moment a calculated expression of his will.

Regina’s execution resembled someone zipping a jacket with far too much vigor.

Emma jerked forward as the magic raced up her arm, her eyes wide. “Son of a fucking _bitch_.” The blonde cradled the arm to her chest, hunched over, and let out a series of rattling breaths as David’s grip became the only thing keeping her standing. Three sets of wide, fretful eyes landed on Regina and she bristled, defensive.

“I did warn her,” she said, and stumbled as the price of her spell caught up to her in a rush of lightheadedness. She latched onto the closest thing to her – Emma – to avoid falling. The sheriff recovered enough to stabilize the pair of them before Regina’s weight sent them both sprawling.

“Mom?” Henry’s worried voice had Regina cursing straining herself with unpracticed techniques. Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to regain control of her body despite its seemingly complete lack of energy.

“You okay?” A new note of concern Regina had not heard before entered the savior’s tone. She forced out a nod and moved to stand on her own balance once more, ignoring a faint promise of nausea her stomach sent her. Worried hazel eyes studied her own and Regina noted that color had returned to Emma’s cheeks.

She suspected hers had paled.

“I will be,” she said, and cut a look to Henry, offering him as reassuring a smile as she could manage. “Don’t worry.” He frowned, unconvinced, but nodded.

“Well, thanks. Again.” Emma said and stepped out onto the deck. She wobbled for a moment, but found her balance as she rolled the healed arm with a frown. “It’s still stiff, but I think you got the shoulder too.” She stretched her arm out wide, and the twin jagged lines of freshly sewn flesh almost seemed to glow red against the pallid skin surrounding them.

Each scar was as wide as a finger, and Regina could not help but wonder how much less of a mark a proper healer would have left.

Emma poked at the puckered flesh with curiosity rather than anger. “Just about good as new,” she said, easing Regina’s burgeoning sense of guilt. “Now, let’s—” Emma started to take a step and her equilibrium failed her again as she stumbled forward. Regina caught the woman on instinct, her hands latching onto Emma’s hips and her feet shuffling in quick steps back to dissipate the momentum.

Regina grunted in the effort to keep them both upright and felt a bubbling sense of embarrassment creeping up.

“How much blood have you lost, Sheriff?” Emma mumbled something that Regina could not make out even as close as they were. The woman’s eyes were shut tight, lines forming in her brow.

“A _lot_ ,” Henry said, his worry plain. Frowning, Regina moved a hand from hip to forehead, finding the savior’s skin clammy and cold. Emma’s eyes blinked open as she came back to the present.

“Don’t say it,” she said.

Regina did not have to as David stepped forward. “The only thing that’ll take care of this is rest.” He took Emma’s arm around his shoulder and once again the blonde did not object, resigned to her fate. “Last time I had a run in with a sword, it took twenty-eight years for me to sleep it off.”

“Not funny, David,” Snow said, the back of her hand resting against Emma’s forehead. “Get her back to the apartment and make sure she actually rests,” the woman instructed her husband.

“Go with them, Henry,” Regina said, arms crossing as the frigid air started taking its toll on her as David started to lead Emma away. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.” Her son nodded, eyes faraway. Regina watched him and held back the expression of pure regret that threatened to make its way to the surface. Her little boy had been exposed to so much that he shouldn’t have…

The trio trudged off the boat at a glacial pace, and Regina was put off by the lack of objections coming from Emma. The dwarf passed by them as he raced back up the gangplank.

“Those guys are on their way to the hospital, sister.” He reported to Snow, ignoring Regina’s presence altogether. “Any sign of Nova?” He looked to ready himself for bad news as fright and hope battled for supremacy in his eyes.

“Henry says she’s down below,” she said. Snow put a hesitant hand on Leroy’s arm, squeezing.

“She crossed the town line, Leroy.” She offered a smile that Regina supposed was meant as sympathetic. “You know what that means.” He jerked his head in a jittery nods.

“I know,” he said and pushed past them both. His lumbering steps echoed as Regina shared a look with Snow. This was not going to be pleasant.

She followed after the dwarf, pushing the memory of the last time she went to the bowels of this ship out of her head. They found the nun in the first room on the left, sleeping on the hardwood plank that served as a cot, Emma’s jacket serving as pillow. Leroy slid his cap off his head and adopted a small smile, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder to urge her awake.

Nova jerked to consciousness, eyes wide and wild. She saw herself surrounded and pushed back into the wall as far as she could go.

“Hey, easy, easy,” Leroy said, holding his hands out and wide, palms forward. “You’re back in Storybrooke.”

The woman blinked, her pupils constricting as she came back to the present. “Leroy?” She let out a slow, raggedy breath.

“I’m here,” he said and moved to offer her a hand. She flinched away. The dwarf faltered, but managed to keep anything but a smile showing on his face. “It’s okay, you’re safe again.”

She nodded her understanding, eyes downcast. “I just… need a moment.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Snow asked softly. Nova cocked her head to the side at the question, brows furrowing.

“No…” She said with a weak chuckle. “I remember waking up _here_ , tied up and alone for hours.” Her voice cracked. “And nothing before, it’s just _blank_.” She pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes. A foreign surge of sympathy ran through Regina as she traded another look with Snow.

“Nova…” Leroy spoke, eyes full of the frustrated empathy of someone who wanted nothing more than to help, but had no way to do so. Regina shifted, uncomfortable, having last seen that expression in her own father’s eyes in his final moments...

The nun smacked her hands against the cot, driving herself to her feet in a rush of sudden motion. “That’s _not_ my name!” Leroy stumbled back as if the woman’s words struck a physical blow. She brushed past Snow, but Regina caught her by the arm before she could get out of the tiny room. The nun spun around on Regina and, for a moment, she braced herself for an attack before the woman brought herself under control.

“Take a breath,” Regina said in her no-nonsense tone. Nova averted her eyes, shame replacing panicked anger. “You’ve lost a lot of time. It’s going to take a while to get your bearings.”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Snow said, coming up to squeeze next to Regina with her damnable hopeful grin. “But that time you’re missing is more than just a few weeks. It’s your whole life.”

Nova looked dubious but did not argue. “I just want to go home,” she pleaded more than said. Regina released the nun and flicked a gesture toward the dwarf.

“Leroy can take you to the convent.” The man stepped up, hesitant as he played with his hat in his hands. Nova looked doubtful for a moment before nodding her acceptance. Leroy offered her a hand, but she shook her head and started down the narrow pathway. Dejected, Leroy followed after.

Snow moved to go with them, but Regina blocked her way. “We have another person to take into custody,” she said. Snow looked torn but followed after Regina.

“Alright…” The one Henry named Mr. Smee lay on the floor in the same cabin the giant had occupied. His hands and feet were bound, his red hat stuffed into his mouth to act as a gag. On their approach, his eyes widened and he tried to shuffle away from them, his entire body contorting in the effort.

Regina suppressed a morbid grin the sight inspired and squatted down, ripping the hat from his mouth and leaving the man spluttering.

“Now, Smee, we’re going to have a little chat.” She trailed her fingers through the air, resting in place inches above his chest.

“It was all the Captain’s idea!” He shouted, still trying to scoot backward. “Everything. Stealing from the convent, kidnapping the fairy girl. It was all part of his plan to kill the Dark One.” Regina blinked, surprised by the man’s quick confession.

“You’re quick to place blame,” Snow said and Regina heard the other woman step up just behind her, a looming presence over her shoulder. “Why should we believe you?”

“Because why do I care about messing around with the Dark One?” Smee’s eyes were wide and darting, likely searching for an exit path. “Captain shows up and _asks_ you along, you follow his orders.”

“Just following orders.” Regina scoffed, the excuse sounding hollow. “I’ve never heard that one before,” she mused.

“That justification does not have a history of working out well for the person trying to use it.” Snow’s voice gained an edge that sent an instinctive shiver down Regina’s spine. “And you _following_ _orders_ put my family in danger.” The woman squatted down next to Regina, head cocked slightly to the side. “So try again,” she said. “Tell me what you had to gain from all of this.”

Smee wilted under their combined attention, sweat pouring down his blotchy face and into his unkempt beard. “Home,” he said. A determined flint glittered in his eye and he drew enough courage from the word to jut his jaw at them. “He promised me a way _home_. No more gutting fish all day _every_ day. No more going home to a tiny apartment, alone, to waste away my life doing _nothing_.”

“And you believed him?” Regina laughed, quick and harsh. “You’re a bigger fool than I gave you credit for.”

“Captain doesn’t lie,” Smee said with surety of a pious man. “Not to his crew.”

“Cora must have a plan to get them back to the Enchanted Forest.” Snow concluded, her eyes narrowing. Regina refrained from revealing how unlikely her mother was to take on _extras_ and let Snow follow her train of thought. “What do you know of it?”

Smee hesitated until Regina pressed her fingers against his chest. She relished the power of reputation as he started stumbling over his words again. “If that crazy bitch had a plan, I don’t know it. She and the captain had a falling out right after I signed on.”

“If Cora’s on her own…” Snow trailed off and Regina nodded her agreement at the unspoken words. It would be a massive change in the situation.

“Keep talking,” Regina urged the bound man.

“Not much left to tell,” he said. “Plan was simple. Kill the Dark One, come back and gather the old crew before using a bean to get the hell out of this godsforsaken realm.” He shook his head. “Went right to shit when we found the savior with him.” He let his head bang off the floor, forlorn.

“Well she does have a habit of doing that.” Regina stood, eyeing the prone man with contempt. “But your plan would never have gotten off the ground, anyway,” she said. “There are no magic beans in this realm.” With a flick of her wrist she cast a quick sleeping charm and caught the man in an invisible grip, holding him several feet off the ground. Blackness edged onto the corners of her vision and she stumbled, catching herself on the wall. Her spell held, tenuous at best, and Regina took slow, even breaths to maintain control.

“ _Damn_ it.” Snow remained in position, pinching the bridge of her nose with her eyes screwed tight. To Regina’s relief, the woman had missed her episode.

“What is it?” Regina forced the words to hold an energy she did not feel.

It took a few seconds before Snow responded. “We played right into her hands.” Snow stood, eyes opening but focused on something unseen.

“Explain,” Regina demanded with a sinking feeling.

“Anton,” she said with a sigh. “He had a viable seed with him. We agreed to be lenient on him if—”

Adrenaline eked energy back into her system as her mind processed the new information. “If he grew a stalk,” Regina concluded, the pieces snapping into place. “My mother’s exit strategy.” She had to admire its boldness as much as its brilliance. “Either the giant kills us all and she just plants the seed herself, or she lets us do it for her.” She shook her head, daunted by the thought that they had only scratched the surface of her mother’s forward thinking.

“We should destroy it,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “Trap her in Storybrooke with the rest of us and make sure she knows it. She might make a mistake.”

Snow looked as if Regina had suggested they kick a puppy up and down Main for laughs. “We _can’t_ ,” she said, adamant. “That beanstalk is the best chance we have of getting everyone home.”

“Assuming everyone _wants_ to go back.” Regina countered, Kathryn’s arguments having gained traction in her mind. She ignored Smee as he snored in the air next to her. “Who else knows about it?”

“Just Charming, Anton, and the dwarves. All trustworthy.”

“You consider the giant hell-bent on murdering your husband trustworthy?”

“Cora tricked him.” Snow defended with a challenging brow rising toward her hairline. “Hardly the first person that’s happened to.”

Regina smiled, the taste of bitter, angry words scalding her tongue as she held them back. “No, I suppose not,” she said instead. Snow’s phone chirped with the sound of a bird call Regina did not recognize, distracting them from the mounting tension.

“It’s from Doc,” Snow said as she read the message. “They’ve gotten Gold’s son stable, but are bringing Hook into surgery.” She pocketed the device and met Regina’s eyes. “We should get over there.”

“Why?” Regina asked, and Snow blinked. “Let Rumplestiltskin worry about his son.” She clarified. “Hook’s off the board. We can finally focus on a single threat.”

“You agree with Emma,” Snow said, surprised.

“We know what she wants,” Regina said and jerked a thumb to her unconscious prisoner. “And now we know how she planned to get away.” She held a hand out, palm up. “We just have to lay a proper trap and…” She clenched the hand into a fist.

Snow seemed dubious. “Easier said than done.”

“Which is why we shouldn’t waste any more time.” Regina was already following the floating Smee out of the cabin as she began speaking. Snow followed hot on her heals. “We need to come up with a plan before everything settles.” She glanced behind her, finding Snow grim-faced and unsure. “Take advantage of the chaos before she does.”

An odd sense of anticipation built up within her as she strode through the underbelly of Hook’s ship, and for the first time since learning her mother had come to Storybrooke, Regina felt an emotion that was rare to her at the best of times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie, this one was a bit of a struggle to get out. Regina's voice was harder for me to find this time around, and I'm not quite sure why, but I did manage to eventually eke out something resembling a chapter here. A lot of the differing factions are moving around off screen and will be coming to a head in the coming chapters, so I focused this one on mostly setup.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! 
> 
> How did you enjoy Regina's dynamics with the characters here, especially Snow? What do you think of Nova being the victim of memory loss in place of Belle? Do you enjoy the dwarves (at least Leroy) maintaining their revelance?
> 
> Anyway, next time up we will have Rumplestiltskin's first pure PoV chapter, and it ought to be a doozy!


	12. Rumplestiltskin II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark One reaches a point of desperation as everyone deals with the fallout of the events in New York.
> 
> (Edited and updated as of 11/16/2015)

Rumplestiltskin stood holding the curtain aside, a grim frown in place as he watched the person laying on the hospital bed unconscious. The world around him moved at a glacial pace while his mind fired on all cylinders, trying to come to terms with how quickly his reality had shifted. Just two days ago he had all the hope in the world that he could mend his family and _finally_ claim his happiness.

That dream now lay shattered at his feet, and Rumple could not begin to fathom what was next. Every plan, decision, scheme, and effort he had laid out over decades upon centuries had reached their penultimate climax the day before, and left him with no other course to follow in the wake of their completion.

But one.

He moved the side of the bed, the curtain wall drifting closed behind him, and held up his cane in twirling fingers. In Storybrooke he did not need its aid in walking, but it still served a purpose. He brought the heavy, brass end down on the resting man _hard_ , right on top of one of the thick bandages on the man’s right shoulder that Rumple knew dressed a bullet wound.

The pirate woke, screaming at the top of his lungs and curling up against the pain. The Dark One took pleasure in the man’s agony as his scream died down to grunting breaths. It took thirty seconds for Hook to gather his wits enough to move, and his eyes widened in terrified recognition at the sight of who stood above him. Rumple smirked, savoring the image.

Hook took a wild swing with his good arm, but Rumple chuckled as he caught the limb’s stump mid-blow. The pirate’s eyes shone with confusion as he regarded the bare end to his arm, and Rumple had the passing curiosity when the man had last seen it without his hook.

Rumple shrugged, uncaring, and _squeezed_ the dense flesh, urging long inactive nerves to fire with new pain. The pirate grit his teeth against it, but Rumple called heat into his palm, building it to a point just shy of ignition until the pirate could no longer bite back another pained outcry.

He bared his teeth. “I wanted to be sure, _dearie_ , that you understand the situation.” He released Hook, leaving angry red and black skin behind. “There is no one here to help you,” he said. “You are completely at my mercy.” A silencing spell on the curtains and a sleeping charm on the bespectacled dwarf on guard had seen to that.

“Then just kill me and be done with it, Crocodile.” Hook’s voice came out scratchy and resigned. He tried to push himself into an upright position, but cringed to a stop the moment his right side moved. “Nothing’s bloody stopping you now.” The man fell back against his pillows, eyes drifting closed.

Rumple jutted the pommel of his cane under the man’s chin, forcing his teeth to snap together in a shuddering _click_. “Nothing has _ever_ been stopping me, save your complete irrelevance.” He slid the pommel down until it hovered against Hook’s windpipe. “But now my son is dying.” He leaned pressure onto the cane until it cut off Hook’s air. The man tried to meet the prospect of suffocation with a brave face, but soon succumbed to natural fear as he spluttered and fruitlessly tried to bat at the cane with his handless arm, unable to even twitch the other. Tears pooled in Hook’s eyes as his skin darkened to grey, then to blue, and edged toward purple.

Only when the man’s arm flopped onto the bed, its energy spent, did Rumple let up.

Hook drank in the air with coughing, desperate gasps that edged with grunted pain as he jarred his injured side.

Rumple should have felt a rush of adrenaline at holding such power over another life. It was an experience as familiar to him as breathing, but now there was nothing but contempt. “And the only thing keeping you from suffering tortures beyond even your devilish imagination,” he said, tucking the pommel at the crook of Hook’s neck and chin once more. “Is the _remote_ possibility that you are wise enough to provide me with the antidote.”

The pirate’s hacking coughs subsided, morphing into raspy laughter. “There is no _cure_ , Dark One.” He struggled the words out and met Rumple’s eyes with the righteous fury the pirate always managed to conjure. “It was made for _you_ , Crocodile. I couldn’t risk a cure _existing_.”

“No…” With dawning horror, Rumple recognized no deception from the man as the pirate muttered under his breath. The cane slipped from his fingers and Rumple staggered back, mind whirling to find a solution. There _had_ to be one. “You’re _wrong_.”

The pirate laughed a melancholy sound, his voice cracking. “You’ve killed your son, Rumplestiltskin. Just as surely as you murdered Milah.”

Rage filled him. A seething white hot river of wrath ran through his _being._ Conscious thought left him as Rumplestiltskin forwent his cane and opted to wrap his bare hands around the bruised flesh of Hook’s neck and _clenched_ with all the might he could bring to bear. Hook did not fight the attack, his eyes closed and tears streaming down his cheeks as his complexion raced through a myriad of darkening blues and purples once more.

The concept of his son outliving his murderer brought Rumple little satisfaction, but still he pressed on.

“Rumple!” The shocked shout tore through his haze of fury as well as a finely sharpened blade as delicate, familiar arms wrapped around his shoulders and _yanked_. She did not possess the strength to do more than throw him off balance, but Rumplestiltskin let Belle pull him away. Hook took a tiny breath, but remained unconscious.

The adrenaline of the moment bled away in the seconds that followed. Frustration, shame, anger, guilt, grief, and desperate terror filled him in its wake and Rumple fell to his knees, head bowed and chest heaving.

With a start, he realized he was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks in rapid rivulets.

Gentle fingers touched beneath his chin, drawing his gaze upward until he found fright and sadness reflected in Belle’s expression that matched his own. “He’s my son, Belle. My Baelfire,” he said through his sobs. He felt lost. Adrift without a solution.

She caressed his cheek with a sympathetic quirk to her lips and drew him to his feet.

“I know,” she said, quiet and without judgement. “Which is why you should be by his side.” She reached beyond him to draw open the curtain wall. “And not here.” He nodded as he tried to rein in his emotions, pressing his face to the crook of his elbow to dry his eyes.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Belle,” he said in a whisper as she nudged him out of Hook’s enclosed space.

“You won’t have to do it alone,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Let me make sure that _bastard_ is still breathing, and we’ll go together. Alright?” He nodded again, ignoring the fresh wave of shame as Belle slipped back behind the privacy screen.

On the floor nearby, the dwarf he had charmed blinked in confusion as he woke, eyes searching around him in bleary disorientation. The idle realization struck Rumple that he’d lost focus on his spellwork.

A rare thing indeed.

A chuckle bubbled up his throat, threatening to become another wave of sobbing grief. Rumple began to wonder if this was how he would lose his sanity.

Belle saved him from internal contemplation, emerging from Hook’s sectioned off room while rifling through her purse.

“He’s alive,” she reported, pulling a pair of silvery blue flowers from the bag, their stems wrapped in moistened paper towels. “No harm done,” she rested a warm hand on his chest and offered an attempt at reassuring smile. “Come on.”

She took his arm and Rumple let her lead him away from the man whose fault _everything_ was. They remained quiet as they climbed the floors toward Storybrooke Memorial’s ICU. How every nurse, patient, doctor, and guest avoided his attention along the way would have amused the Dark One once upon a time, but in the wake of feeling too much, he had opted to force himself to feel _nothing_.

It seemed to be working for the moment.

“Just one second,” Belle stopped short outside a private room and slipped inside. She spent all of thirty seconds before emerging – sans flowers – and they continued on.

“And how is Miss Lucas doing?” Rumple asked, tone flat. Rumple knew he owed the women a debt for sacrificing herself to give Belle a chance at escape, but he could not drum up the emotion to care about her wellbeing. Not today.

“Not well,” Belle said, eyes on their feet. “She’s getting worse every day. Whale can’t figure it out.” Rumple offered no words of comfort, having none to give, and pulled Belle closer against him as they walked.

The Intensive Care Unit in Storybrooke’s only hospital was a small thing, and rarely used. The last occupant, Rumple believed, had been David Nolan during his longtime coma. The wing was all but abandoned save a bored looking woman in scrubs manning the nurse’s station on her own. Her eyes flicked up to them in disinterest as they passed, and she lifted a finger in a halfhearted point toward Bae’s room.

He was not his son’s first visitor of the day.

Emma Swan and Regina stood on either side of Baelfire’s door, a pair of bedraggled and weary sentinels. They bickered at each other as he and Belle approached, oblivious to their presence.

“-told Henry he was _dead_ ,” Regina said, arms crossing. “He has a right to be angry.”

“I didn’t exactly expect to ever see him again, let alone have him know that I had a _kid_ ,” Swan replied, holding her hands out wide in front of her. “After what he did, I didn’t want him anywhere _near_ Henry.”

“I don’t disagree.” Regina crossed her arms and glanced into the room. “That he’s _Rumplestiltskin’s_ son, on top of it?” She shook her head. “I don’t like this.”

“Despite your best efforts, Dearie,” Rumple said with a hard look to his former apprentice. Both women started at his appearance, but he could not muster the energy for proper anger. “The fates do not weave their tapestry according to your will.”

“Gold, we—” Rumple ignored the blonde, not caring what she had to say, and pushed between the two and into his son’s room. He heard the three women follow behind him, but he could not tear his eyes away from his son lying on what was becoming more and more likely to be his deathbed.

“Bae…” He moved to the bedside, hesitant to reach out and touch his boy. Baelfire’s skin held a pallid color, doused in sweat. The steady, quick _beep_ of the heart monitor assured him his son still fought. A stark contrast to the shallow, hardly noticeable rise and fall of his chest.

“Gold,” Emma Swan spoke again, but Rumple paid her no heed, reaching a hand over Baelfire’s chest. The mortal doctors had to have missed something, the though occurred to him, and Hook may yet have been lying. He closed his eyes and focused, the dark energy his powers granted him came to his call without hesitation and reached out toward his son.

The technique could not offer him a diagnosis. Magic was never so straightforward, even for the Dark One. Instead, his spell would grant him an impression; a distinct feeling of his son’s state of being.

Rumple wished with all his might that he had not done so a moment later. An immediate perception of pure _wrongness_ invaded his senses. He shuddered, bile at the back of his throat as he pulled his metaphysical sense away. To his horror, the sensation followed his magic as he tried to end the spell, surging in strength. Baelfire’s heartbeat skyrocketed and Rumple threw caution to the wind and _yanked_ the magic away from his son.

Baelfire’s chest heaved up off the bed, his breath hitching into desperate gasps. Rumple staggered backward, and only Belle’s hands kept him from collapsing. Sound reached his ears that he did not comprehend as Emma Swan moved to hold his son still as Bae started to convulse.

The poison fed off magic, Rumple realized.

That devious _bastard_.

It would have spelled certain death to the Dark One had Hook been successful, and, Rumple suspected, the poison would have torn through him at a much more rapid pace.

He watched, forcing himself to remain impassive, as his son’s seizure slowed to a stop and his heartrate evened out. Only then did the on call nurse wander in, eyes wide and panicked.

“What happened? He was stable!” She rushed to Baelfire’s side and began taking his vitals, shouldering Swan out of the way. Her posture relaxed with every test, to the point where she looked bored once again when she pronounced him “As well as he was before.”

“What’d you do to him?” Swan asked the moment the nurse left the room, always the picture of tact.

“I did what these _professionals_ could not,” he said, stepping back up to Baelfire’s bed and laying a hand on his chest to feel his breathing. The rise and fall soothed his ragged emotions. “The poison seeks out magic. Uses it to make itself stronger.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant.” His former student was the first one to put it together, the light of realization sparking in her eyes in the way that sparked an ironic pride from Rumple decades before. “You wouldn’t have had a chance.” She concluded.

“No,” he said, trailing the word out as a quiet whisper.

“But Neal doesn’t have magic,” Emma said, brows furrowed. “Shouldn’t that mean he can beat this?” She looked to Regina in askance, Rumple noted in wry amusement.

“All life is magic…” Belle spoke from behind him. All three turned to look at her in curious surprise. She flinched for a moment before shrugged, saying, “I read about it.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means,” Rumple answered the savior. “That everything alive or that has ever been alive has magic in some form.” He studied his son’s pale face. “It will still kill him.”

“But slowly,” Regina said.

“So we have time.” Emma concluded, a hesitant smile on her lips. Regina looked to her with a frown. “We can figure out how to cure this thing.”

Rumple marveled at the, frankly, dumb positivity, but it sparked stray thought. “Where’s Henry?” Three sets of eyes blinked at him. “Surely he wanted to spend time with his father while he still could?”

Emma glanced toward Regina before looking down, sheepish. His old apprentice’s tightened jaw could have cracked rocks, he suspected.

“He already had to watch this happen,” she said, waving a hand over his son. “The last thing he needs is to watch a stranger die an ugly death, too.”

“ _Regina_ ,” Emma scolded as the queen’s words grated against Rumple’s fraying calm. He fought to keep his fragile composure, afraid any magic released might set off the poison in his son’s veins.

“Go,” he demanded, raising himself to his full height.

“Gold, we need--” Swan said, but he held up a hand, cutting off her words.

“No. Pay your respects, and _leave_.”

“Oh, for… We need your dagger, Rumple.” Regina’s blunt, annoyed delivery left Rumple offguard..

“ _What_!?” Belle expressed his incredulity for him.

“Tell me,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “How do you picture this conversation turning out?”

“With you seeing reason,” Regina said without hesitation. “You know whose fault _all_ of this is.” She stared him in the eye, unflinching. “She won’t ever reveal herself when she doesn’t have the advantage.”

“So we need to give her one.” Emma picked up the thread. “Get her out in the open and take her down.”

“A trap,” Belle said, stepping forward with a scowl. “Last time you tried to trap her you failed, Regina. Then she came after _me_. Forgive me if I’m not confident in your abilities.” Regina drew herself up, a look of contempt crossing her features.

“Things didn’t go according to plan,” Emma said. She placed a hand on the mayor’s arm to keep the woman from lashing out. “And it still almost worked.”

 

Belle made to retort, but Rumple shut the conversation down, his patience gone. “And you expect me to entrust my life,” he paused, cocking his head and pushing as much disbelief voice as he was able. “To _you_.” He caught the wince before Regina hid it behind a mask of calm. “In a desperate ploy to trap your mother.” He shook his head, dropping his tone several octaves. “Which does _nothing_ to help my son.”

“We could still--”

“ _Enough.”_ Rumple felt the tenseness in his shoulders as he approached the bring. “ _Go_.” An annoyed tick played at Swan’s eye, but Regina urged the blonde forward before she could make the fatal mistake of speaking. He did not watch them as they went, his eyes on his son. Only when Belle’s hand found its way to the space between his shoulder blades, rubbing gentle circles, did Rumple allow        his nerves to relax.

He bowed his head, putting his thoughts to work trying to focus on moving forward. “Sorry, Belle.” He whispered. She tapped her fingers against his back to acknowledge him. He hated when she saw the monster beneath the man, but there seemed little he could do to keep it under control this day.

“I hate to suggest it…” Belle spoke up minutes later, hesitant.

“You agree with them?” He did not bother to hide his surprise.

“ _No_ ,” she said immediately. “But they did remind me of another option.” Her voice trembled as if terrified. Frowning, Rumple turned away from Belle’s gentle ministrations so he could study her. Frightened sadness was written plain her face. “With the dagger…”

Rumple made the connection and his instinct urged at him to rage against such a suggestion, to protect himself at the cost of all else. He turned away from Belle once more, afraid he could not control the emotion, but the sight of Baelfire worsened the storm of his thoughts and his breath quickened, the needs of the Dark One warring against the wants of a father.

He pictured the scenario. Wrapping Baelfire’s unknowing fingers around the dagger’s hilt. Forcing his son to stab the blade into Rumple’s blackened heart. The black tendrils of magic surging from Rumple’s dying body and into Baelfire’s, breathing new life into the man.

Would it work without his intent? Would the magic purge the poison from Bae’s blood as surely as it had healed Rumple’s crippled leg? Or would the devilish concoction only feed on the fresh energy and doom them both? Would the power pass onto _Hook?_

The uncertainty of such a path relieved Rumple as it gave him a reason not to ponder the true question.

Could he make up for his greatest mistake? Give up not only his power, but his _life_ to save his son?

The Dark One shoved his inability to answer to the back of his mind, joining the looming specter of shame at the edge of his peripheral perception. Always there, never truly acknowledged.

Rumple explained his reasoning to Belle, her countenance turning crestfallen. “It’s not simply a life for life trade.” His words sparked an echo of memory almost forgotten. He recalled an artifact absconded from Regina’s late husband’s castle long before, just after the woman had agreed to an apprenticeship.

The fool Leopold had kept the double-ended candle on display, having no idea what power it had truly possessed and thinking its only value lay in its beauty.

“Rumple?” Belle asked, worried. Rumple realized he held a grin from ear to ear and laughed as the plan came together. He embraced Belle and kissed her with all the pent up pressure and frustration bleeding out in the passion of the simple act. When he broke away, Belle stood dazed, blinking owlishly.

“There’s an enchanted candle.” He started to explain, hurrying from the room, his lover on his heels. “An ancient thing, but _powerful_.”

Emma Swan and Regina remained by the nurse’s station, but their attention remained captured by a pile of his son’s personal effects spread out in a clumsy disarray. Both women studied the screen of a smartphone, Regina hovering close over Swan’s shoulder.

“—viously important to him. She called over two dozen—” Rumple blazed past them, shelving irritation for the breach of his son’s privacy for a later time. Belle peppered him with questions as he strode through the hospital and then the streets of Storybrooke at a pace just shy of a run.

“You know all magic comes with a price,” he said as the turned the corner to his shop. “Most times, the cost is subtle and hard to predict. This artifact is rare in its simplicity. It does what it says…” He trailed off, stopping as his instincts threw up a warning a dozen paces from his shop’s entrance. It took him a moment to realize it was the complete lack of energy in the air that had stilled him.

Someone had taken down his defenses.

“Stay back,” he told Belle as he stepped forward, metaphysical senses reaching out in a way the mundane simply could not. Where once stood a dome of potent magical defenses was only the empty , still air. With cautious steps, he approached the store’s entrance, noting the ghost of a scar floating in the air where the center of his wards had once stood. The echo of power glowed in the dim light, a contrast to the dark wood of the shop’s entrance.

It was tinged pink. _Not Cora_ , he concluded and stepped through it into chaos.

None could argue that on a normal day, Rumplestiltskin’s pawn shop was anything less than _cluttered_. A crowded display of the staggering numbers of artifacts he had collected both mundane and magical, priceless and worthless, always lined the walls from floor to ceiling and took up much of the floor space as well.

For his cursed persona, it had been a strategic design allowing him to study his customers from the moment they entered. To see where their eyes drifted and their interests piqued. An advantage to securing a profitable sale.

It had all been torn asunder, and Rumple had no doubt as to the culprit.

He could not begin to categorize the damage as he simply did not know where to start. Not a single thing remained where it should have save for the ancient register dutifully sitting on unbroken glass of the display counter ,and the items held within the deceptively sturdy display.

He allowed himself a moment of relief, shelving his anger once again. On the bottom shelf, next to his newly acquired globe (the crimson dot now shining here in Storybrooke, Rumple noted in passing), sat the enchanted candle. Rumple thanked the stars that it was a pretty enough thing to earn a prime place of presentation.

As long as his forearm, one half the purest white and the other the deepest black. The two colors met in the center of the candle, bleeding into each other in a filigree design representing the opposite and intertwined nature of life and death in an elegant, if simple way.

He unlocked the cabinet and pulled the candle free. It weighed heavy in his hands even as his chest lightened with hope. He was never gladder to have had a spell fail, for if Belle had not stopped him, Rumple would not have been able to find the opportunity to turn Killian Jones’ death into anything more than a hollow act of vengeance.

“I had wondered what happened to that,” Belle said from just behind him.

He was halfway through turning toward her when the cloud of grey overtook him, its effect instantaneous as nearly every one of his voluntary motor functions seized up and Rumplestiltskin was only able to dart his eyes around, everything else frozen in place.

A thousand and more questions burned through his mind as panic settled in.

Belle stepped into his line of sight, an alien smirk tugging at her lips and a swaggering haughtiness to her visage that did not belong. “I warned you, Rumple,” she said, smoothing a hand through his hair as a mother would a child’s. “Love is weakness.”

 _Cora_. Confusion gave way to resumed rage as Rumple pushed every ounce of his will toward breaking the hold, but the fairy dust’s work was absolute. He could not commune with his magic.

She stroked his cheek, a gesture both familiar and foreign at once, and pursed Belle’s lips in a pout. Rumple could not help but recognize the skill in which Cora wielded heart control even as he felt violated on Belle’s behalf. He could see the sorceress behind every _twitch_ of Belle’s expression and movements, now, and no trace of his Belle.

The level of control over the puppetry spoke volumes to how Cora had earned the title Queen of Hearts.

“You know, she’s quite a willful one,” Cora said with Belle’s voice, tilting her head to the side. “She tried to kill me with what I’ve learned is called a _shotgun_. Very crude.” She shook Belle’s head, wavy auburn hair flowing with the motion. “But I could see that spark of defiance you love so well.”

Cora slipped Belle’s hand into his, prying the enchanted candle loose. She examined it with a small smile, confident in her prize.

“I had the long plan figured out,” Cora mused, tracing a finger over the candle’s filigree design. “But Captain Jones proved to be quite useful despite his rampant idiocy.” She chuckled and Belle’s laugh had never sounded worse. Her tone dropped to annoyance as she continued, “And my daughter seems to be growing bolder in the company of _Swan_.” She bit out the name as a curse.

“I don’t have the luxury of time any more.” She dropped the candle into her purse and pulled out a slip of paper, prying open Rumple’s jaw just enough to slip it between his teeth until it was held securely. Cora’s smirk played upon Belle’s lips once more at the sight of him. Rumple hoped his fury expressed its full might through his gaze alone. “You will have thirty minutes after the dust wears off to bring the dagger to that location.” She flicked the paper. “And _leave_ it there. Talk to no one, and know that I will _know_ if you do.

“And I do not know what I’ll be capable of should you betray my trust.” She leaned in close until Rumple could feel Belle’s breath on his neck, warm and inviting despite the situation. “Maybe I would show mercy and save poor Baelfire with this one’s heart.” She tapped above Belle’s left breast. “Or I could reward Captain Jones for his unwitting service. Fitting, I think, to gift him your replacement for Milah to soothe his heartache.”

Bile rose to the back of Rumple’s throat, vile and burning as he wished to physically recoil from the thought. Core raised Belle’s eyes to meet his with a wicked grin.

“Don’t disappoint me Rumple.” Belle’s lips pressed against his in a way familiar and foreign and _wrong._ He recognized Cora’s kiss through Belle’s lips and his stomach twisted once more.

She pulled away and his lips felt burned as if touched by hot iron. She stroked his cheek with the pad of Belle’s thumb, amusement glittering in the eyes he loved so. She stepped around him, each echo of Belle’s heeled shoes against the hardwood compounded his anger and shame.

The bell above his door chimed and Rumple was left alone with his thoughts and the agonizing realization that, for the first time in centuries, he had no idea what to do.

 _Coward_ , the looming presence at the edge of his mind whispered, and Rumple could not find it in him to banish the word away.

He was terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, I know, but Cora trumping Rumple demanded to be the scene to end the chapter, and I was in no position to argue!
> 
> Things just keep on climbing toward the climax as Cora adapts to the advantages fate has given her, and everyone else scrambles to tread water. Will Rumple be able to keep his dagger or will he become another of Cora's pawns? What fate lies in store for Belle, whatever choice Rumple makes? How will our lead duo react to this new set of challenges?
> 
> Find out next time!
> 
> Until then, happy reading!


	13. Emma IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo boy, this chapter ended up half again as long as was meant to be. I won't keep you busy up here. Dive right in!
> 
> (Edited and updated as of 11/16/2015)

_There’s too much happening,_ Emma thought as she chased after Whale toward Ruby’s room, Regina right behind her. _I can’t keep up_. Between Cora’s presence (would she try to go after Regina once more? Henry), Neal coming back into her life and proceeding to end up on death’s door within an hour of doing so (and who was Tamara and why was she calling dozens of times?), Ruby’s injuries in the line of duty (what kept her condition from improving?), and the bullshit politics going on around everything else (what had Midas and Herman been up to the past days?), Emma longed for the time when her biggest trouble was trying to see Henry without Regina knowing.

She would not falter, Emma determined. _Could_ not. She pressed forward.

Ruby’s back arced off the bed in convulsions as they entered the room, and Whale ordered Emma to help him turn Ruby onto her side. She turned off her conscious thoughts to focus on the moment, following the doctor’s orders with as much care as her shaking hands allowed.

Ruby’s seizing eased as Whale jammed a needle into her IV, and the man studied her for long seconds before the frantic beeping of the machines calmed and his shoulders dropped in a sigh. He leaned his weight on Ruby’s bed and bowed his head.

“Again,” he said, motioning for Emma to roll Ruby onto her back. He pulled several small tubes from the inside of his white coat and moved to draw some of Ruby’s blood. “Every day it’s the same…”

Emma sat heavily into the room’s only chair. In the rush of action in New York and its fallout, Ruby’s condition had fallen to the back of her mind. She studied her deputy’s pale face, her sharp features now closer to gaunt after just two days. She seemed so feeble beneath the thin hospital gown and without a splash of red on her person. _She knew the risks_ , Emma told herself, but felt hollow.

“It’s unusual for silver poisoning,” Regina said, stepping to the bed. “If the initial dose did not kill her, she should be well on her way to recovery.”

Whale shot Regina a look so full of irritation and contempt that had Emma standing up in a sudden rush to get between them, knocking the chair back. The doctor cut her a glance and swallowed, censoring whatever vitriol was about to come out of his mouth.

“I’ve never treated a werewolf before,” he said instead. “In _either_ world.” He held up the vial of Ruby’s blood. “The amount of silver in her blood keeps spiking. Any idea why, your _majesty_?” Emma held back a rebuke. Whale was an ass, but he had managed to put his patients’ well-being above his own biases in the past.

Regina raised her eyebrows and her lips twisted in a sneer in an expression both annoyed and challenging as she snatched the vial away from the doctor. She held the plexiglass tube between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand and held her right beneath it, palm up and fingers held as if squeezing an invisible ball.

The new scars along her arm itched at the sight of Regina working her magic. She traced an idle finger along them through her sleeve as the former caused Ruby’s blood to pulse in a chromatic array of light that meant nothing to Emma.

“It’s like she’s been freshly dosed,” Regina said, quiet as she worked through the problem. Emma thought she saw a decent amount of silver flowing among every other color of the rainbow.

“I could have told you that,” Whale said, deadpan. “We’ve been monitoring everything. Nobody has been in this room that we don’t know about.”

“And I’m sure security has been impeccable.” The sarcasm in Regina’s voice bristled Whale, who drew himself up and puffed out his chest, ready to argue. Regina ignored him, focusing on the vial still. She popped the vacuum seal off the vial with her thumb and brought up her right hand.

The silvery light followed the gesture. “Tracking spell?” Emma guessed. Regina frowned at her, but nodded and opened her hand from a half closed fist to splayed fingers. The wisp hovered in the air for a long second before darting toward Ruby’s bedside table and the vase that sat upon it. A half dozen long stemmed, greyish blue flowers glowed as the supernatural light spread over their petals.

“The flowers?” Whale asked, incredulous. “How are they getting silver into her system?” Regina bent closer to the plants, studying them with a slight ‘o’ playing on her lips.

“Infused with silver and forced to grow,” she said more to herself than to them. Her finger trailed along the stem of one of the flowers, prodding it. Particles of light shimmered into the air above the petals. A quick wave of her hand caused a brief wind that sent the particles out the window, and a second set the contents of the vase to flame.

It burned white.

“Who brought those?” Emma asked the doctor, ignoring his yelp as he flinched back from the smokeless fire. “ _Whale_.” His attention turned back to her, his brow furrowed and eyes wide.

“Belle,” he said. Emma blinked, trying to fathom a motive. “Every day since Ruby’s been in she’s…” He trailed off and shook his head, watching as the magical flame burned itself out, leaving nothing behind.

“But why would she do this? Ruby saved her, it doesn’t make any… sense...” Emma trailed off, realization stealing her speech. If Ruby had _not_ stopped Cora…

She looked to Regina. The other woman had not looked away from the smoke-stained vase, both her hands held in tight fists, trembling, and Emma knew she had come to the same conclusion.

“Cora has her heart, doesn’t she?” Emma asked. Regina gave a slow nod.

“Oh, God...” Whale looked stricken. Emma wondered how he knew the implications, but did not have time to run down that line of questions.

Regina shook herself from wherever she’d lost herself in her headspace, turning to Emma with the blaze of determination in her dark eyes. “She’s been biding her time, but now she knows that we plan to move against her.” She shook her head. “We were so _careless_. A werewolf fending off my mother…” She scoffed and Emma had to fight down the urge to defend her deputy.

Now was not the time.

“Get her on her feet,” she told Whale with a nod toward Ruby. The doctor nodded and seemed glad as she and Regina left him to his work.

Gold’s shop was tucked on a corner only several blocks away from the hospital, but the walk dragged on as Emma’s mind whirled with how much information Cora could have gleaned from Belle. “She would have to still report things to Cora directly, right?” She asked the former mayor.

Regina blinked, a glaze fading from her eyes. “Possibly,” she said. “But if my mother combined it with a scrying spell or something similar…” She trailed off, pursing her lips. Emma grimaced, grasping the implication.

“Gold’s not going to go for this.” They had already pushed their luck with him that day, and it had not even been an hour since.

“This changes the game,” Regina said, a grim little smile playing at her lips after a second’s pause, her eyes faraway. It was the most emotion Emma had seen from Regina one-on-one since the New York debacle. “Nothing will motivate him more than saving his precious Belle.”

 _More than his son?_ “Speaking from experience?” Emma asked with a healthy dose of irony. Regina’s smile disappeared in a flash and the woman regained the surly expression that had been her default in anyone else’s company.

Emma bit back an irritated sigh and chose not to dwell on the implications from Regina’s past, or what had earned her the cold shoulder, and kept quiet the rest of the way to Gold’s shop.

They found the place ransacked, junk strewn all over the place, and Gold standing with his back toward them, rigid.

“What the hell happened here?” Regina asked as Emma diagnosed the scene. Things were thrown around haphazardly, including some items that Emma believed would be worth at least a modest sum of cash. Whoever did this was either looking for something specifically, or just trying to cause a bunch of damage in a short amount of time.

“Emma,” Regina spoke sharply, drawing Emma away from her deductions. The woman nodded toward Gold with a deepening frown. The man had not moved an inch since they had arrived, save for the rhythmic flexing of his fingertips.

Cautious, Emma approached the shopkeeper with measured steps, calling his name with each. He did not acknowledge her, his fingers still gripping away at the empty air. She braced herself as she came level with him, wishing she knew what to expect.

She leaned around him and found his eyes wide and staring directly at her with a fury that urged her to flinch away. She held her ground. “What’d she do to you?” His eyes cut from her to his left and back again. Emma tried to follow his gaze, but only saw the glass display counter. Nothing appeared out of place to her.

Regina came up on Gold’s other side and gave his shoulder a sharp shove. He wobbled like a human-sized bowling pin, joints unbending. He cut a glare Regina’s way the best he could.

“Fairy dust,” she said. Gold squeezed his eyes shut in a long blink, and Emma assumed that was a confirmation.

“Getting a lot of mileage out of that lately,” Emma said. Maybe they needed to make it a controlled substance? She shook her head. _Thoughts for later_. “How do we fix him?”

“Nothing but time,” Regina said. Her hands found her hips and she turned to look around the shop, brows raised in consideration.

“No such thing as anti-fairy dust?” Emma half joked, drawing a droll look from Regina. “How long?”

“Hard to say, but judging from that--” She nodded toward Gold’s hands, now slowly flexing into fists and relaxing before repeating the process. “—it won’t be long.”

“Well we can’t afford to waste any time.” Emma considered her options. “Do you know the whole blinking thing, Gold? Once for no, twice for yes?” Gold stared at her without blinking, the muscles in his face beginning to twitch.

“We should try to figure out what was taken.” Regina scanned the shelves and piles of artifacts.

“I assume Belle was going for the dagger.” Regina laughed, irking Emma.

“Rumple would never be foolish enough to keep it here.”

“Well why else would she reveal herself?” Emma asked, grumbling. “She had to have been going after her endgame.”

“Or he figured out what was happening and my mother was prepared for that eventuality.”

“She can’t’ve thought of _everything_ ,” Emma said and Regina shrugged. “You saw how Gold stormed out of the hospital.” In the moment Emma had assumed he had figured out something to help Neal, but now she wondered. “Belle was right there with him. I doubt he figured out Belle wasn’t Belle in the last twenty minutes.”

Regina held a finger up in an “ah ha” gesture. “Whatever he was after must have been valuable enough to give up her position,” she said.

“It is a wonder,” Gold said, drawing both women’s attention. He spoke through clenched teeth, by choice or necessity Emma could only guess. “That the town has not been torn asunder with you two in charge.” He rolled his head from one side to the other, but the rest of him stood immobile.

“What did she take, Rumple?” Regina asked. Gold closed his eyes and seemed to hold his breath. A moment later Emma believed she saw the air shimmer around the man, and his mobility returned. He looked between her and Regina, an expression somewhere between contempt and annoyance on his features, and shook his head.

“The only way I had to save my son.” Emma felt a resigned sadness settle in her chest as Gold’s shoulders sagged the barest amount, more vulnerability than Emma had ever seen out of the man. “Both of you will stay out of this.” He spoke as if it was already a foregone conclusion and moved to leave his shop..

Emma grabbed his arm. “We’re in this too, Gold.” He eyed her hand with a strained line setting in on his jaw. “You’ll need our help.” He yanked his arm free in sudden jerk.

“No,” he said, quiet but firm. “I won’t.” Emma cursed the pride of stubborn fools and thought on her feet. She tried to stop him again, this time grabbing him high on a shoulder. Gold responded in an instant with an invisible force that clotheslined Emma in the gut, sending her skidding back against the glass counter. She grunted at the addition of a new bruise to her repertoire.

“I assure you Miss Swan.” Gold’s voice could have frozen fire. She blinked until the room stopped spinning. Gold stood at the door, glaring over his shoulder. Regina had gotten between him and Emma, a small fireball in her right palm. “Cora Mills will regret threatening those I hold dear for the rest of her terribly short life.”

He stepped out in the light of day, adding. “As will either of you if you interfere.” He poofed away in a cloud of crimson smoke.

“Why didn’t he just do that in the first—?”

“Idiot.” Regina whirled on her, fireball dying as she pressed her fingers against her temple. “What possessed you to provoke the Dark One when he’s on a warpath?”

“Provoke? I was offering to _help_.”

Regina barked a laugh. “And look at how much damage your _help_ has managed to do these past few weeks.” There was a bitterness to Regina’s voice that struck something cold and unpleasant in Emma’s chest as she realized Regina spoke of more than Gold. The woman’s face registered regret in the moments after she spoke.

“I get it,” Emma said, pushing off the mix of emotions to focus on the now. “It’s been a shitty couple weeks. We’ll deal with it later.” She held up the hand she’d grabbed Gold with, opening her fingers to reveal strands of the man’s hair. “Can you track him?”

Regina blinked. “Yes,” she said, surprised. “If he didn’t realize what you did.”

“He’ll be too focused on Belle and Neal.” She hoped.

Emma handed the hair over with a grimace. “We’re about to walk into a major magic fight, aren’t we?”

“Maybe,” Regina said, moving her hand in the same pattern as earlier. A hint of irony touched her voice. “But my mother most likely offered a deal.”

“The dagger in exchange for Belle? Or Neal?” Gold’s hair began to glow red. “Either way, think he’ll go for it?”

The orb of burgundy light leapt off Regina’s palm to hover at eye level. “I don’t know, but we have to be ready if he does.” Regina frowned, hesitated, and then continued. “Call your mother, tell her to destroy the beans.”

“What beans?”

Regina seemed unperturbed by Emma’s surprise, speaking with a sense of irritation. “In their infinite wisdom, your parents had the giant grow a crop of magic beans.”

“He’s out of jail?” Irritation of her own, verging on anger, took hold of Emma. She had not been to the station since the day Anton had nearly broken her in half. Had David and Mary Margaret _forgotten_?

“Second chances are their specialty, dear.” Emma pressed her eyes closed and pinched the bridge of her nose. How could she protect the town if she had her own allies were letting her play with half a deck?

“How long did you…doesn’t matter. Think we could use a bean to banish Cora, call it a day?”

Regina shook her head, resigned. “Even if they were ready for harvest, she would just find another way back.”

“Best to get rid of them, then.” Emma sighed and pulled her phone and gestured at the orb of light with it before scrolling through her contacts. Her annoyance bled into her voice. “Is there a reason you haven’t gotten that moving?” Emma pressed the phone to her ear and turned away from Regina’s recoil.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret said with great enthusiasm. “Did Rumplestiltskin agree to the plan?”

“Not quite,” Emma said, and followed up with a summary of their current situation. She could picture how the other woman would sag with every bit of news, ending with how Emma knew they had lied to her. “So when were you going to tell me you let Anton out?”

“When you were ready to come back,” Mary Margaret said without a moment’s hesitation. “You weren’t in any condition to--.”

“I’m still Sheriff.” Emma cut her off, ignoring a flash of guilt. She knew she was being petty. “You need to run these things by me.” Regina tapped on her shoulder and Emma cast a look behind her to find the tracking spell drifting toward the door at a glacial place. She nodded toward the other woman and followed.

“We _can’t_ destroy the beans, Emma.” There was an edge to Mary Margaret’s voice bordering between regret and anger. “They’re our only way home.” She added a touch of desperation.

Emma held the phone away from her ear and cursed, drawing a raised brow from Regina. Why did she have to care so much? She cast her eyes upward for a long moment, trying to imagine having lost home and then being asked to destroy the only way to regain it.

She had no examples to draw from, but tried to sympathize.

“Fine,” she said before realizing she still held the phone at arm’s length. She put it back to her ear and repeated herself. “Go there. Guard it. If Cora _or_ Gold shows up, you _need_ to destroy it.”

“Okay.” Relief rang palpable over the line. “Emma…”

“I know,” she said and hung up.

“If this goes south,” Regina said without looking at her. “My mother will have Rumplestiltskin doing her bidding. They won’t stand a chance.” Regina’s voice held no derision or contempt. She was simply stating fact.

“Then we don’t let this go wrong.”

Regina shook her head with a little laugh. “Any idea how to do that, Savior?”

She didn’t. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I guess this is where the _good guys_ always blunder in but somehow manage to come out victorious.” Regina mused. Despite it all, Emma spared the woman an amused smile. Regina shared it in for a second, and the moment passed.

They followed after their snail-paced guide, and Emma tried to figure out how to stop this disaster and get everyone out of it alive.

\---

The spell led them into woods at the southern edge of town. A half mile off the path (Emma wondered how Regina could keep pace on the uneven ground in _heels_ without stumbling once) and the spell fluttered away, having found its target. Gold stood inside a clearing that could not have been more than two dozen feet across in any direction. He was alone, his eyes locked on the ground, and the dim light able to penetrate the treetops gleamed off the weapon in his left hand.

Regina busied herself with muttering words in a language Emma didn’t recognize while pulling a tiny blue bottle from an inside pocket. There was no sudden glow of light or a burst of energy, but Emma thought she felt the air shift before Regina dropped her free hand and sip from the glass.

Regina offered it to her with a grimace and a whisper, “It should mask our magic. Just long enough…” Eyeing the tiny thing with a healthy dose of doubt, Emma tilted it against her lips and knocked back the potion _._

It tasted of _rubber_ and Emma used most of her self-control to keep from gagging and ruining the point of it. She sent an accusatory glare Regina’s way.

“What’d you expect, apple juice?” Emma let the hint of mockery go for the moment.

“Warning would’ve been nice…” She muttered, turning her attention back toward the clearing. Gold had moved to the rough center, still staring at his dagger. Emma understood the idea behind the weapon, but found herself skeptical that such a small thing could wield so much power.

With its wavy edges alongside the engraving all over the blade that she could not make out from a distance, it seemed as if it would make a far better mantelpiece than a weapon.

“Think she’ll come in guns blazing, or—” Emma shut up as a cloud of violet smoke – close enough to the color of Regina’s magic to make her uncomfortable – erupted over the center of the clearing, blocking their view of Gold.

Emma drew her weapon and held it in stiff arms, pointed at the dirt. She scrutinized the fading smoke, keeping her breathing even and urging fate, God, gods, or whatever to make it so Cora had not just teleported Gold away and lost them their only chance to turn the day into a win.

She let out an inaudible breath when she spotted figures through the thinning fog of magic. Gold had gone rigid, standing at full attention and holding his dagger in a fist trembling with rage. Cora stood not a dozen feet from Emma’s hiding place with a wicked grin on her face and wearing an archaically formal dress in the darkest of blacks.

At her feet was Belle in a pose of pure submission. She kneeled on the ground, sitting on her calves, with her head bowed so low her auburn hair covered her face. She held her hands in her lap, palms crossed but open, and she did not twitch a muscle.

“Belle…” Gold spoke her name on a whispered breath, his pain raw and potent, but Belle made no indication she had heard at all. Emma’s gut twisted. The whole idea of how _complete_ heart control seemed to be chilled her to her very core.

She sent a silent thanks to her parents for pulling off the whole apex of the Fairy Tale story thing.

“Oh, Rumple.” Cora shook her head, admonishing Gold as if correcting a small child. “You know better than that. She’s mine, in every way. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Belle spoke with none of her typical fire. The monotone she used lacked the backing of any emotion Emma could recognize, striking her as _wrong_ on a primal level. Inhuman.

Beside her, Regina went ashen with her eyes going faraway for a moment before she shook her head, lips pressed into a grim line.

Gold ground his teeth and held the dagger straight out, parallel to the ground with its tip aimed at the center of Cora’s chest. The woman laughed and held up her off hand. A glowing red crystal in the perfect replica of a heart rested on her open palm. Tiny swirls of blackness whirled within it.

“Careful, dear.” Cora still smiled, but her words took on a grave sense of gravity. She closed her grip around the heart one delicate finger at a time. “I know you’re smart enough to know how this works if you _attempt_ to do anything with that dagger.” She squeezed the crystal for a moment, and Belle let out a sharp cry of pain.

Gold’s arm fell as if it were dead weight.

“The candle?” He asked, and Cora’s eyes flashed surprise.

“Oh?” Her jovial grin returned. “Did you hear that Belle? He’s chosen his son over you. Tell him how that makes you feel, and be honest now.”

“Terrified.” Belle answered dutifully. Gold averted his eyes and let out a slow breath.

“Such a waste,” Cora said and tightened her grip on the heart.

In the breadth of a second Belle had shouted in agony, Gold yelled for Cora to wait, and Emma had her gun pulled and trained at the sorceress’ center of mass with her finger less than a hairsbreadth away from pulling the trigger.

The only thing keeping Cora from experiencing a clip’s worth of lead ripping through her was that she heeded Gold’s request and once again held the heart in an open palm. Her teeth showed in a predatory grin.

Emma let out a raggedy breath and felt Regina’s stare burning through the side of her skull. She wondered if it were out of instinctive concern for her mother or because Emma’s arms trembled as she kept aim on Cora.

She did not relish the idea of shooting a second person in as many days, but she truly did not want to strain to her fledgling trust and friendship with Regina.

Killing her mother in front of her would _probably_ not go over well.

The lingering reminder that the woman also possessed a way to save Neal hammered the final nail in Emma’s will to shoot the woman. She holstered her weapon.

“So she _does_ come before all else.” Cora mused. Her head slanted slightly to the left in thought. “I wonder if you would have come to value me more than your powers, had things gone differently.” She let out a sigh Emma assumed was meant as wistful.

 _What?_ She spared a quick glance to Regina, finding the woman slack jawed and seemingly nauseated in the unmistakable expression of a child finding out far too much information about a parent. Despite the situation, Emma felt a tick of amusement.

Gold ignored the implication. “For my dagger.” Gold grimaced. “You will both restore Belle’s heart and provide me with the candle.” He drew himself up to his full height. “Once they are both safe, then you may have it.”

Cora laughed, mocking and cold. “Or I can give you five seconds to drop the blade or I crush your lover’s heart.”

Emma’s mind raced, focus honing in on Belle’s heart. She judged the distance and wondered if she would be able to grab the crystallized organ before Cora knew what was happening if she took off at a dead sprint. She would leave at least a second or two for Cora to react.

The woman’s fingers began to close, and Emma’s knees bent and heels dug into the ground. She knew nothing other than she needed to get Belle’s heart _away_ from the woman.

The energy burst across her perception for the span of a single breath the moment the thought occurred in her mind. Magical smoke in a shade yellower than Emma’s bug encircled Belle’s heart and it vanished from Cora’s hand, reappearing in Emma’s own with a flash of the same color.

The crystal felt heavy in her hand, solid, and she could feel the steady _thump thump_ as it echoed the motions of the real thing.

She stared at the heart in her hand, then looked to Regina to confirm she had not just imagined doing what she’d done.

Regina held a surprised, impressed smirk, her dark eyes glittering with unspoken approval.

Emma’s heart fluttered at the small victory.

“ _Swan!_ ” Reality crashed back in flurry of activity. Cora snarled in Emma’s direction, every expression of cheer and amusement gone from her stance and Emma felt the whole of Cora’s murderous intent fall on her shoulders as the woman called burning crimson and orange power to her hands. Emma _felt_ the energy build up for the woman to do so and sucked in a surprised breath, hesitating for a single moment.

It was long enough for Cora to unleash her fire, not toward the tree Emma took shelter behind, but straight at the still prone Belle.

 _Run!_ Emma thought in desperation, unable to gather her wit in time to even vocalize her plea. Belle jettisoned from her kneeling position and took off at a dead sprint as Emma registered the buildup and release of magical energies both to her left and from Gold’s direction in the same moment Belle began to move.

Cora’s flamethrower struck a thin whirlwind, flaring it up in intensity for a moment before fluttering out against the gale. The sorceress herself had been flung away by an unseen force, ass over teakettle.

Regina held her right hand out straight, perpendicular to the ground, wrist braced by her left hand, and her chest heaving in quickened breaths. Gold had been waving his hands in a flurry of motion, but now stalked toward the recovering Cora with the promise of murder in his eyes. Emma glanced at the crystalline heart in her hands, her battered psyche choosing to accept the situation rather than try to analyze it.

 _Get safe_. _Get help._ She urged the thought toward Belle, hoped that’s how it worked, and stuffed the thing in her jacket’s inner pocket. It thrummed with energy and Emma took that as a good sign as she stepped out of her protection and drew her weapon once more, trusting it more than her ability to successfully pull off magic when actually _meaning_ to.

“Gold!” Emma warned as they approached. He held an arm out toward Cora, magic thrusting the woman against the tree hard enough to steal the breath from her. “ _Gold!_ ” She tried again, but he ignored her and shoved a hand into Cora’s chest without preamble. Emma felt a pulse of power slip by inches to her left and Gold staggered several steps backward, hand empty.

Emma couldn’t spare a glance at Regina and stood between Cora and Gold, eying each of them. Gold slowly closed the fist that had attempted to grab Cora’s heart, annoyance and anger twisting his visage and deepening the lines on his face. Cora simply laughed.

“Did you truly think me that foolish? You ought to know better, dear.” Even as Cora mocked Gold, she scanned between the three of them, searching for a way out.

“More powerful foes have been felled by simpler means,” Gold said with a disappointed sigh. He flicked a brief look to Regina. “ _Never_ do that again.”

“Focus.” Emma meant the order for both Gold and Regina, who she sensed riling in anger behind her. She narrowed her eyes Cora, who met her gaze with a small, confident smile. Emma did not have a good enough read on the woman be sure if it was for show or if she actually had an ace up her sleeve.

“I suggest you get out of my way, Ms. Swan.” Gold spoke with the harsh cadence of restrained anger. “The promise of a sliced throat can work just as well as holding someone’s heart.” He held up his dagger at an angle that caught the light, stepping forward only to be stopped by Emma’s outstretched arm. He glared at her. She ignored it.

“Crude,” Cora commented, indifferent. The woman turned her attention toward Regina. “Tell me, my lovely daughter, how standing on the same side as the Dark One is any better than helping your mother?”

“I think being away from you pretty much clinches the argument,” Emma said before Regina spoke.

Cora laughed again, still staring over Emma’s shoulder at Regina. “She speaks for you, too! Do you tricks for her as well?”

Emma took a half step to her left, cutting off Cora’s line of site to her daughter. “You don’t get to talk to her.” Emma surprised herself by how cold she sounded, bleeding amusement from Cora in an instant.

“Afraid she’ll see the light, dear? How long do you think the charade can last? She won’t be content barking on your command just for scraps of time with her son. Not forever.” The woman’s lips lifted in a savage little smile, predatory and taunting. “She’ll remember who she is, and _take_ what is rightfully hers.” She tilted her head slightly to the right. “Or we can skip all of that if you would just _open your eyes_ Regina!”

Emma did not know how it happened, but she found herself almost flush against the witch with the cold steel of her gun digging into the flesh beneath the woman’s chin. “Shut. _Up._ ”

Dead silence fell around the clearing save for the choked gasps Cora made as her eyes went wide in surprise. Emma realized with a start that her magic had seemingly acted of its own accord and put unrelenting pressure on Cora’s throat as well.

A bruise bloomed on her neck and Emma jumped back as if shocked. Her power receded away from Cora but still swirled around her, unguided and wild and fueled by her combined anger and rising panic.

Cora spluttered and coughed, but still managed to speak. ”This is who you put your faith in, Regina?” The woman let out a hacking laugh. “Do you _enjoy_ being under her heel? You are nothing to her!”Emma risked a look toward Regina, wanting to deny Cora’s claim, but she found Regina’s head bowed, hair shielding her eyes so Emma could not gauge her reaction.

“ _Enough_ ,” Gold spoke in a snarl, stepping toward Cora with the confident stride of a predator cornering its prey. “Get me the candle Cora, or—”

Emma’s neophyte sixth sense warned her a split second before the wave of force lashed out from Cora in a whip of solid power. She dug her feet in and tried to use the power at her fingertips to soften the blow, but she only managed to keep herself on her feet while sliding backwards, digging tracks through the dirt.

Gold was not so lucky, catching the brunt of the attack that sent him flying through the air until he was out of Emma’s line of sight.

Before she could figure out if Regina had been hit as well, Cora swept her arms over her body in a crossing pattern that Emma recognized Regina use for teleportation. With an urgent thought, and not sure of the details, Emma _pushed_ her magic behind her and felt as if someone had given her a swift kick in the ass as she flew forward.

Something snagged her ankle, but she still managed to latch onto Cora’s wrist before the magical smoke had taken her away, and Emma found herself surrounded by violet energy.

The moment lasted less than a breath in which Emma felt a nauseated mix of weightlessness and pressure pushing down on her from all sides. Disoriented, Emma thought she was spinning and tumbling without an idea for direction until her entire body jerked to a halt provided by the soft embrace of solid stone.

“Fuck…” She grunted out her displeasure before hearing movement on either side of her and forced herself to focus. As she rolled to her knees and tried to regain her feet, she realized their tranquil forest scenery had been replaced by a dimly lit cave.

The only details she could make out were a cot in one darkened corner, and a table carved out of the rock wall holding three ornate-ish boxes – two closed, one open – and a black and white double-sided candle in another.

“Foolish child!” Cora seethed, and Emma whirled to face her. The witch’s eyes almost _glowed_ with anger in comparison to the shadows around them. She pushed out a hand held in a claw and Emma’s defensive instincts took over, reminding her she still held a gun. She brought the weapon to bear only for the force Cora unleashed to hit her _beneath_ her wrists, knocking the firearm away before Emma could let loose a single shot.

Without hesitation Emma brought her arms back and _pushed_ , trying to unleash a concussive wave of force of her own. Cora crossed an arm across herself and the trickle of energy that Emma managed to produce only lapped against what she assumed was a shield, no more dangerous than a wave against sand.

 _Really wish I knew what I was doing._ The thought did her little good as Cora hit her with another blast and then swiped toward the ceiling. The echoing _crack_ of breaking stone was Emma’s only warning as she dove in a roll to her left, landing hard on her recently healed shoulder.

Her arm went numb for a terrifying moment before the pain set in. She gritted her teeth against it, and found she could still move the limb.

It distracted her long enough for her to barely register Cora following up her attack with a series of fireballs. Emma threw her right arm across her face in a desperate imitation of Cora’s earlier move, and, to her immense relief, the fire clashed against a solid shield in brief flares of golden light that illuminated the entire cave.

Which let Emma spot Regina slowly gaining her feet several yards behind Cora. With a victorious grin, Emma pressed forward, steps only slowed with each attack Cora pressed against the metaphysical barrier. The closer Emma made it to the woman, the more desperate and unstable the attacks became. Fire, stone, and air crashed into the magical shield, but, miraculously, it held.

In a straight magical fight coming down to skill, Emma was not in Cora’s class and both women knew it.

So Emma decided to throw whatever brute force she could at the woman and hoped it would be enough.

Once she was close enough, she lowered her shoulder, waited for a brief pause in Cora’s near relentless barrage, and dropped her shield, diving at Cora in a classic grapple around the midsection.

Heat seared Emma’s back, but her leather jacket protected her from the worst of it as she tackled Cora to the ground, knocking the wind from the witch. She followed it up with a solid punch to the woman’s gut and three vicious strikes to the side of Cora’s head.

Cora proved unable to take a punch as her eyes went unfocused after the second blow, and her body went limp after the third. Emma told herself she added the fourth hit just to ensure the woman stayed down, but she could not deny the savage sense of justice the feel of her fist against the woman’s skull brought her.

Panting, heart beating an insane rhythm, and adrenaline pumping through her veins, she rested back and found herself straddling Cora’s thighs. Feet away, Regina had gained her feet and looked at the scene before her, her expression inscrutable.

She did not speak, choosing instead to walk in slow steps toward the table with the boxes.

“Regina,” Emma tried to say, but her voice came out a croak. She realized that at some point during the fight she had inhaled enough dust and roasting air to fry her throat. She swallowed against the newfound pain as her adrenaline faded, and tried again. “Regina?” It came out as English this time, but the woman still did not acknowledge her.

“Hearts.” Regina flipped the lid off one of the boxes, pulling a crystal heart from within that was much the same as the one in Emma’s pocket, save for a much denser amount of darkness pulsating within.

Emma hoisted herself off the prone Cora and shuffled toward the table. “Who do suppose the extra one is?” She assumed one had to be Cora’s own. Regina only shrugged, still not deigning to look at her, and Emma tried to remember that Regina had to be fighting _years_ of mental habits that had been untested in decades.

She rested one hand against the table for balance and the other between Regina’s shoulder blades to try and turn the woman toward her.

“Should be easy enough to find out,” Regina mused, eyes resolute in staying on the heart as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Regina.” Emma added a bit of desperation in her voice. “Look at me.” Regina’s eyes drifted closed and she gave a little shake of her head.

“It’s going to take time, Swan.”

Before Emma could figure out a response, something barreled into the small of her back, crunching her gut against the side of the table and her upper body against the tabletop itself, sending everything on it flying in different directions.

“Stop!” Regina’s voice echoed with the commanding poise of a queen as she held out the heart in her hands, but Cora neither flinched nor hesitated.

The twist of rage on the woman’s features burned itself into Emma’s memory as the busted and bleeding lips staining her teeth red were at odds with the deep purple bruise that was her nose and the right side of her face. It made her look like the monster she was, Emma thought.

The second blow caught Emma on the chin, knocking her up into the air until the back of her head smacked against the rock wall and she crashed down to earth.

The next thing Emma knew when she cobbled her thoughts together in something vaguely resembling coherence, was that Cora now held her hand within Regina’s chest. The older woman was ranting at her daughter as Regina cried out in pain.

In her head, Emma sprang up and body tackled Cora again, but her body did not appear to be completely on the same page as she only managed to get on all fours before collapsing again in a wave of dizziness.

When focus returned to her on a fragile thread, she was flat on her stomach and staring at a crystal heart that was at least two thirds darkness lying next to an upturned box. It was mere feet away from her, but in her condition it may as well have been miles.

“—happening, Regina. One way or the other.” Cora was saying. “Whether I have to rip out your heart or—”

Emma tuned out that unnerving dialogue out and drove every fiber of her being to focus on the heart in front of her, willing the fifty-fifty shot that was her magic today to just _work_. She pictured what she wanted as clearly as her mind was capable and pushed out with her power.

The heart kicked up into the air and a wave of dizziness hit her that was so strong that Emma was forced to slam her eyes shut, which did not stop the overwhelming nausea from overtaking her. She heaved up vile tasting bile and rolled over, urging her head to stop spinning.

Hours or seconds later, Emma managed to open her eyes and take in the aftermath of her desperate action. Cora had gone silent, staring at Regina’s hand where it rested above the witch’s left breast. Her eyes widened as her breaths came in quicker and quicker gasps in what Emma’s jumbled mind registered as the start of a panic attack.

Regina was not much better, looking at her hand as if she could not fathom what she had done.

“Regina…?” Cora’s voice held a plethora of emotions, confusion most prominent. Emma wondered what feeling something for the first time in thirty years would, well, feel like.

Regina shook herself from her stupor and, almost gently, called her magic to drive Cora back against the cave wall. Rock liquefied and shifted until each of the woman’s four limbs were covered and she was left immobile. A second motion set the woman to sleep, and silence reigned.

Relieved beyond measure and with absolutely nothing left in the tank, Emma sighed and let her eyes drift closed to stop the world from spinning. Her date with unconsciousness was interrupted as someone jerked her to her side and started to lift her off the ground. She tried to make her displeasure known, but her annoyance melted away to gratefulness as hard stone was replaced with what had to be the most comfortable pillow in the world.

“Swan? Emma!?” Regina’s voice had not annoyed Emma this much in _months_ and she forced her eyes open into a glare the likes of which the world had never seen before. “Focus,” Regina urged and Emma realized she was not glaring so much as blearily blinking.

She was also lying on Regina’s thighs.

“Can you hear me?” Regina asked.

“Glad you’re safe,” Emma tried to say, but it came out as gibberish. Regina’s lips quirked in what might have been amusement. Faint shouts came across Emma’s notice and somewhere in her head she recognized her parents’ voices along with Belle’s.

The crystal heart in her jacket thumped in reminder and Emma began to laugh.

Belle had gotten help after all.

Regina’s amusement turned back to concern, and Emma laughed all the harder without knowing why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I implied up top, this chapter was only supposed to be about 5k words or so, but it bloomed in a way only rivaled by Regina II in length, and the second half is my favorite thing I've written for this fic so far.
> 
> Concussions seem to be a common occurrence in my battles.
> 
> One thing that irked me about canon is that we never really see an all out magical clash. The closest we ever come are completely one sided affairs. Here I wanted to show how four people of vastly differing skill levels (Rumple >> Cora > Regina >>> Emma) could come together in a way where the levels are roughly evened by outside circumstance. Nobody in this chapter really let loose save for Cora's all out attempt to break down Emma's luck-strong shield, but I still feel like it portrayed the possibilities of a magical slugfest in an intriguing way. And I can promise that as the story goes on, magic on magic battles will become more and more commonplace, and will encompass a scope larger than just flinging elements back and forth.
> 
> It's just so much fun.
> 
> Anyway, our leading ladies have finally hurdled Major Obstacle #1 in taking down Cora, whose plans within plans were unraveled by Emma's sneaky move (note, the reason Emma was able to magically call the heart while it wasn't an option for Rumple or others will be explained and explored later).
> 
> But now we have an interesting situation. Cora has her heart and is still alive, Neal is still dying a slow and painful death, and who exactly does that third heart belong to (it was taken on screen, as I'm sure a few(or most) of you noticed)? Regina's got a buttload of Mommy issues to work out, and Emma is frankly tired of getting her ass kicked in every showdown.
> 
> Not to mention Greg is still in town and Tamara is clueing into the ongoing activities. Plus the Storybrooke politics still need to resolve.
> 
> So lots still to come, and I hope you stick around to see it all!
> 
> Please read and review!


	14. Interlude III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Including:
> 
> Cora II  
> Belle I  
> Henry II  
> Killian II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, and welcome back to the first new chapter after my editing binge! I've gone through all the old chapters, cleaned them up, and added a scene here or there for good measure! Nothing groudbreaking or story changing, mind, but they certainly tie some things together. Notably, in Interlude I's Charming section, there's a second half to the scene that's added to clarify some details on the magic bean situation, and Regina III has a few lines added to further imply the cost of magic (during her healing of Emma).
> 
> Anyway, onto new content. Hope you enjoy!

**\---**

**Cora II**

**\---**

She paced. Four steps in one direction. Stop. Turn. Four steps back the other way. Repeat. The motion distracted her, keeping her focus on the next touch of her toes against the freezing floor, the simple practice of moving under own will.

It stopped her from contemplating the shape of what her future had become. A single room, bare but for a tiny bed tucked into one corner and a toilet and sink combination in another, had become her world. Cora could only record the passing of time by the sunlight waxing and waning through the pair of barred windows out of her reach near the ceiling of her cell and the “meals” delivered at regular intervals.

During all of the trials in her life, Cora had found herself without control precious few times. Those had been dark days before she had realized her potential with magic. Before she made the gambit for which gave her the future she had so long deserved.

The lather bracer wrapping her wrist shackled her and Cora bared her teeth at it as she paced. It was an invention of the fairies, she was sure, and no amount of prodding, pulling, or tearing had weakened its hold on her. Short of cutting off her own hand, she saw no way to be rid of the wretched dampening devise and restoring her magic.

She was not quite so desperate yet.

The squeak of her cell’s meal slot opening drew her to a stop. Nurse Ratched, the uptight woman and only other living thing Cora had seen these past few days, stood visible through the transom window above the cell’s door. The woman always wore the same imperious expression, poised and unmoving, and always looked to Cora with a sneer of dismissive judgment.

Cora longed to wrap her hands around the Nurse’s throat as the woman pushed another bland meal through the door. Her fingers flexed as the image spawned in her mind and she glared her warden down, defiant. Something sparked in the woman’s dark eyes and her eyebrows flicked up in brief display surprise.

Then she smirked, breathed out a laugh, and left.

Undeniable frustration gave way to an impotent anger that burned through Cora fast and fierce, more intense than Cora knew how to deal with. She screamed out a snarl of defiance and flipped the meal tray against the wall for lack of another target. Greys and greens joined the basic yellow on the wall and did nothing to calm her.

She pressed her palms into her forehead, fingers curling into her hair and tugging. She used the pain to pull her attention away her from her returned emotions, but she could not prevent the oncoming episode.

She had experienced every feeling across the emotional spectrum these past few days, and found she simply could not process them. Every time she felt something more than in passing, it would hit her with an intensity she had no way of dealing with. Without fail, she would find herself broken down into a screaming, crying, raging tantrum until she scraped together the willpower to refocus her attention away from her cursed heart.

Decades ago, she had thought she calculated all the risks taking away her own heart would entail, but she never once considered the thought of what would happen if it was returned to her after years of absence.

Her daughter had sent her into her own personal hell and left her to rot.

Unquestionable rage and a curious tinge of pride joined the medley running the gambit in her mind and Cora sank onto her bed, already sensing her failure as tears stung the back of her eyes.

Why did people _want_ this? The question played in her head and she had no answer. She curled into herself on the hard mattress, resigned to endure her personal agony.

A jarring shout broke her from her miserable reverie, and Cora shot up to attention, staring at the door to her cell. She had only heard the woman speak briefly, but she felt sure the scream had come from Nurse Ratched’s throat.

She found herself smirking.

No face appeared in her transom, but the heavy bolts keeping her contained unlocked with a banging _thud_ , driven by inhuman force. The door swung open in the same manner, the heavy duty hinges crying their protest. The opened portal stood empty.

Cora blinked, and stood, taking hesitant steps toward her freedom. Without magic, she would be without her strongest weapon, but there was a chance this was an ally…

Her stomach dropped – a sensation she had not felt in decades – as Rumplestiltskin crossed in front of the doorway. Cora’s breath hitched, and the reaction the sight of him inspired flitted through her mind in brief explosions of feelings she had no time to consciously recognize each, and only one separated it from the rest.

Rumplestiltskin’s expression betrayed no rage, no hatred. He gave away nothing with his cold mask of determination or the penetrating focus of his gaze. Yet when he took a step into the cell, Cora took an involuntary step backward, shivering. The chance she would have in this situation was to talk her way out, Cora knew, but her tongue remained stubbornly tied as she continued to retreat from the Dark One.

When her back hit the wall, a flitting moment of helplessness passed through her, both inflating her fear and making her feel pathetic. Shame gave root to her anger and allowed it to bloom outside the remaining tumult of emotions, battling her fear and transforming into determination to survive. Fierce as any she could remember. Her tremors stilled as adrenaline rolled its way into her system.

“Rumple.” Her voice did not waver, and her wounded pride began to mend. “Appearing to me while I’m locked away in a cell? I am surprised by your nostalgia.”

“I don’t have much time, dearie,” Rumple said, invading her personal space. He was not much taller than she, but still managed tower over her with his aggressive stance. “You have one chance to live through the next few minutes, so I suggest you find it within yourself to speak honestly.” Fear fought for control once more, but she had learned the trick. Cora doubled down on her anger – how dare he _threaten_ her? – and warded off her instinct to flinch away, raising one contemptuous eyebrow instead.

“A bit overdramatic, even for your tastes, Rumple.” His lips twisted into something between a smirk and a snarl, his nostrils flaring. An open hand hit the wall beside her head with such force that the plaster crumpled beneath the paint. Cora blinked at the outstretched limb as the breeze the blow generated fluttered her flyaway hair. “Perhaps you should begin with what you _want_ , or should I begin to guess?”

She had never seen Rumple resort so much to physical intimidation. Worry fed into anxious fear, and she hoped she managed to keep it from showing.

“Hook’s heart. Tell me where it is.” Cora stood silent for a moment, nonplussed. Surely they had recovered it?

“I wouldn’t know, dear.” She turned her eyes up to meet his.

“Do not. Lie. To. Me.” He took a harsh breath in, held it for a moment, and released it. “It’s not with the pirate.” He pulled his arm away from the well and held up a single finger. “ _I_ didn’t take it.” A second finger joined the first. “And Regina is too busy playing hero to bother.” A third rose. “Leaving you.” He pressed his raised digits to her chest above her heart and she could not suppress the shiver that went through her.

She grabbed at his wrist and held it fast. “I did have it,” she said. There was little use denying it. Rumple’s little pet had retrieved it dutifully, but Cora had assumed it lost alongside everything else in her cave. “It was hidden with the rest.”

He searched her eyes for several tense moments and Cora tried her damnedest to keep from showing her emotions, but she felt how the much her facial muscles twitched and knew she hid nothing.

Rumplestiltskin frowned, then snarled out a bestial sound of frustration as he realized she spoke the truth. He snapped his hand away from her chest and a burst of magical force hit her on her side, sending her sprawling toward her bed. She grunted in surprise as she landed and twisted to regain her feet, but her limbs tangled in the mess of her sheets, binding her.

The Dark One loomed over her, hand outstretched and fingers curling as the blankets continued to wrap around her, tighter with every passing breath. Cora tried to calm her breathing by feeding into her anger, but the less mobility she had, the more fear began to overtake rage.

“It took far too long to spirit this away from the Sheriff Station’s evidence locker,” Rumple said, holding up the double ended candle. Cora’s heart chilled at the sight of it. It became difficult to breathe. “I may have to make plans to _deal_ with the meddling fairies for their obstinacy, but I found that it was the least of my troubles this day.”

He held the relic over her, directly above her thundering heart.

“I had grown attached to the idea of sacrificing Hook to save the life of my son, but I’ve lost too much time.” He leaned over until they locked eyes, and Cora wished to set his smirking visage aflame. “And you are just as much at fault as he.” He called fire to the tip of one finger and Cora tried in vain to summon her magic or power through her binds.

She could not defend herself.

“Rumple…” She tried to add the aloof condescension that had come so natural to her, but her voice slipped closer to desperate pleading. She hated him for it. “You would not have found him without my help.” The excuse was desperate, but Cora needed to stall until she could come up with something that would stay his hand.

“That is true,” he said, tilting his head with a sarcastic nod. “And if you hadn’t, he would not be dying.” The wick on the white end flared to life and Rumple began to mutter under his breath.

“Regina!” Cora shouted, not understanding where her argument would take her until it tumbled over her tongue. “Regina will _know_ , Rumple. She’s a smart girl.” A foolish, naïve girl, to be sure, but not idiotic. “If she wanted me dead, she would have killed me in the cave.”

Cora had found that the greatest weight dragging her down since the return of her heart had been her relationship with her daughter. Her returned emotions demanded her to seek conciliation, which filled her with a type of fear that her hazy recollections could not identify, and a hope that left her uncomfortable. Regina had not yet come to see her, but Cora refused to believe that that would remain the case for long.

“Regina does not have it in her to kill you.” Rumple agreed. “But that’s far different from not wanting you dead, dearie.” Burning hot white wax dripped on her chest, and the thin material of the shirt they had dressed her in did nothing to stop the sharp sting. “Baelfire,” Rumple intoned, voice deep with the power of willful intent. “Neal Cassidy. Baelfire.” He repeated each version of his son’s name thrice. Fear strangled her heart as sure as her blankets bound her limbs

“You’re wrong,” she said, far from sure. Rumple chuckled. “And that woman won’t let this go.” She licked her lips, finding her mouth had gone dry. “Killing me hurts my daughter. She has proven how she deals with such things.” She tried for a chuckle, but she could not manage more than a strangled sound of desperation. “And make no mistake, this is _murder_. If she’s truly Snow White’s righteous daughter, it will only fuel her desire to see you brought to justice.”

Rumple hesitated as he brought his conjured flame toward the opposite wick. The pause lasted for less than a breath, but it was enough to betray him. “Emma Swan does not frighten me.”

“Do not lie to yourself!” Her voice rose, gaining heat. “You’ve seen her magic, how the power _clings_ to her. How quickly it heeds her? Not even you can cast with such speed, _Dark One_.” Rumple’s lip curled, revealing shiny teeth into a snarl.

He did not speak, and lit the second half of the candle. Her focus narrowed to the dark wax as it succumbed to the heat with agonizing slowness. “Your son!” She did not recognize the broken voice that left her was not hers, but knew it all the same. The tone of a victim. “He hates your darkness! What will he do when he learns he only lives due to you succumbing to the worst part of yourself?”

Silence fell and Cora tracked the drip of black wax as it rolled along the candle before it succumbed to gravity and joined the white on her. It stung the same and she threw all of her might against her bonds, but she did not manage to move an inch.

She doubled down. “His hatred of you will deepen. He will never be _yours_. Is that what you want, Rumplestiltskin? All the decades searching, the _centuries_ spent in agony. All of it to come to a failing end?”

His eyes closed and his hand trembled. More wax spattered against her, burning her but _not_ killing her. _Please_ , she begged mentally, some struggling pride keeping her from succumbing so far as vocalizing her begging. _For what we once had, Rumple, see_ reason _. Please_.

Five seconds were all her words bought her.

“Cora Mills,” he said in a whisper, eyes dull. Bile rose to the back of her throat and she started to scream, thrash, and do _anything_ to change the situation. “Cora Mills.” His voice grew louder and deeper, but he still held his gaze away.

“I swear I will see you dead _Rumplestiltskin_!” She shouted the words out in a snarl, pushing all of her remaining energies into calling her magic. Her wrist burned with the effort, bringing her nothing but more pain.

“ _Cora Mills._ ” The words were spoken no louder than before, but boomed with the power of the arcane. Cora’s breath hitched, and for a single moment, nothing happened, and Cora felt an absurd amount of relief.

Then the burning began.

The illusion of something white-hot stabbing her in the upper back took her, and she grunted in surprise, eyes wide.

Rumplestiltskin turned from her and strode away even as the pain began to spread. He did not even have the courage to watch as he murdered her?

Her focus crumbled as fire began to burn through her veins in a wave of complete and utter agony.

She let out a guttural cry of rage and misery, her thoughts locking on her hatred for Rumplestiltskin and Emma Swan as the darkness claimed her.

\---

**Belle I**

\---

Belle stood, wringing her hands, and looked to the building with an ever-growing feeling of doubt. The several days since having her freewill restored with the return of her heart had not been as wonderful as she had imagined while tucked away in her mental prison. Her chest still tingled with the ghost of touch where both Cora had stolen her heart, and _Regina_ had restored it.

She found herself restless, with the constant need to move just to prove _she_ was the one in control. Having nowhere to go only worsened her descent into stir-craziness. She dared not show her face at the hospital, having contemplated countless situations on how Ruby would take her anger out on her. Belle decided as bad as her imagination turned that situation, she could not face the reality of it yet, either.

After that, she had come to the depressing realization of just how few people she knew.

She and Rumple had been so lost in each other for so long that she had never thought to break up the status quo after their memories were restored, and did not purposefully look outside of him for either comfort or companionship, as she never needed to.

But he had been aloof these past days, distracted by his ailing son.

And Belle could not, and _would_ not, blame him for his divided attention. It did, however, leave her with a problem, and so she turned to her only other recourse.

The stories she had read all pointed toward the local tavern as a fantastic place to commiserate one’s sorrows or seek new adventure, and her brief bout of freedom back in the Enchanted Forest had proven that a sound theory. And since she wished to avoid the prying eyes of those who were regulars at Granny’s, she had sought the next best thing Storybrooke had to offer.

The Rabbit Hole.

Ruby had called it a dive bar, and though Belle was not quite sure whether the werewolf meant it as a good thing or bad, she thought that might be just what she needed. She crossed the street and strode through the bar’s double door entrance with head up and shoulders square in a show of poise and confidence she did not feel in the hopes that the act would inspire the real emotion to rise within her.

The wind left her sails upon the realization that the tavern sat almost entirely abandoned. The lazy, bored eyes of the man tending bar trailed over to her. A bushy grey eyebrow rose in surprise as he nodded in greeting, waving his robust arm to indicate any of the many empty stools along the L-shaped bar between the handful of patrons and to the abandoned tables framing the lonely dance floor.

A small voice whispered in her ear to accept her disappointing discovery as a sign. To retreat back to the library and huddle down with a book to take her mind away from her troubles. The logical part of her knew doing so would not help with her newfound anxiety, but the desire to heed the voice’s suggestion kept her frozen in place, shuffling from foot to foot in indecision. The barkeep’s bushy brows flicked up in askance after a moment.

“You lost?” His voice held the rough and ragged quality of someone who spent a lifetime drinking and smoking. “Music doesn’t start ‘til eight.”

“Um, no, I…” She tried to smile, but felt it come as a grimace. “I just thought.” She shook her head, nodding toward the door behind her. “I should probably—”

“Don’t need to be an ass and go assuming things, Rick.” A voice from the opposite side of the bar spoke from behind the barkeep. Belle perked up, recognizing the speaker from days gone by. Rick grunted an acknowledgment, nodded to her, and returned to poking at his register’s computer. “Need a drink, Sister?” Dreamy the dwarf, looking like he had not slept in days, patted the bar top above the seat next to him. He did not smile or wave her over, and returned his red-rimmed eyes to his glass, staring at the middle distance.

Belle shoved the voice in her head aside and walked across the room with hesitant steps, sinking into the stool next to Dreamy. The dwarf nodded to her, pulling from his drink, foam catching in his scraggly beard and moustache, but he wiped it away with an absent gesture. He did not speak.

Belle side-eyed the man as she ordered a drink from Rick – giving him dealer’s choice – and tried to remember his condition the last she had seen him. Her memories from her time under Cora’s control with blurred outside of following the witch’s demands, so she could not recall his state on the pirate ship days before. But years ago, in the Enchanted Forest, he had been falling in love with a fairy named Nova.

She wondered what their story had been that led him here.

Belle’s drink arrived and she sipped at it in furtive silence. It struck her that the quiet should have been unnerving; an awkward sign of a lack of common ground, but instead she felt a perverse sort of comradery.

Belle basked in that through half of her drink until Dreamy spoke. “You know,” he said, twirling the dregs of his beer around the bottom of his pint. “This is the first time I’ve been back here since the curse broke.” He drained the last of his drink and tapped the counter twice. Rick slid over and refilled it from a tap marked homebrew. “But I used to come here every day.” He wore a frown that brought out the lines in his face. “The queen turned me into a goddamned alcoholic.”

Belle sensed he was not aiming for sympathy. “She locked me in a psych ward.” He let a harsh, humorless laugh and held up his drink.

“To the queen bitch,” he said with palpable sarcasm. Belle gave him a wry smile and clinked her glass to his.

“I just needed to get out and _do_ something,” Belle said after taking a deep drink. Her instincts told her a story beget a tale in turn. “Ever since I got my heart back, I’ve not been able to sit still.” She drummed her fingers on the bar, feeling at once relieved and exposed. “I always feel like Cora’s still there, waiting to give another _command_.”

Dreamy gave a low whistle. “That’s some ugly business, sister.” He hesitated before asking, “Have you talked to the Dark One about it at all?”

Belle blinked, not surprised that he knew about her relationship with Rumple, but that he would care enough to ask. “No,” she said. “He’s been focused on trying to find a way to save his son.”

He nodded. “Snow says that he’s in pretty bad shape.”

“Rumple says the doctors don’t believe there’s a cure.” Bell confirmed and took another drink, emptying her glass. Rick did not wait for her to ask and slid a fresh drink to her and snatched her empty away. “But he also told me has a plan.” She shrugged, wishing Rumple had confided in her more than just distracted promises. But she trusted him, and knew that if he believed she could help, he would not hesitate to ask.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, sister, but that doesn’t fill me with a lot of confidence,” Dreamy said with a grimace. Belle held the instinctive spike of anger in check, knowing her boyfriend’s reputation tended to proceed him.

“And what about you, Dreamy? Whatever happened with that fairy friend of yours?” The dwarf flinched as if startled, blinking at her.

“Nobody’s called that in _years_.” He shook his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t…” He waved off her concerns, shaking his head.

“It’s fine. Just—just use Leroy.” His eyes went faraway for a moment and he tipped his drink to his lips again. Belle shifted in her seat, uncomfortable after her faux pas. Leroy continued, “But Nova… she.” He choked on his words and closed his eyes. Belle’s discomfort doubled, and she wondered if the fairy had not survived. “She crossed the town line.”

_Oh._ Her mouth formed a shape to match her thought and it took a moment before she managed a verbal reply. “I’m so sorry Leroy.” The words did not feel like enough, but Belle did not know what else she could offer. She could imagine few fates worse that losing yourself to the curse all over again. Leroy waved her off with a short nod, and she saw the tears he blinked back.

“Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not the one who got kidnapped and dragged over the line.” He drained his almost full drink in several long gulps and banged the glass back onto the bar. “I just can’t figure out how in the hell I’m supposed to help her.”

“I’m sure if anyone can come up with a cure for the curse’s amnesia, it’ll be the fairies,” Belle said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Nova was one of their own, and everything Belle had read on the fairies painted them in the most positive light. “And take it from me, just _being there_ will be enough for her.”

Leroy’s lips pulled back into a pained smile. “Can’t even do that,” he said, waving off Rick before the man could pour him another pint. “Blue has the convent on complete lockdown. Has for weeks.”

Belle’s mind raced from one possible explanation to the next, but knew none would satisfy the heartbroken man. “Maybe we can get the Sheriff to make some noise?” Belle owed Emma for saving both her life and free will, and did not doubt the woman would help them without question.

“David keeps on saying there’s nothing we can do.” He shook his head. “Something shady is going on there, sister, take my word on that.” He reached into his pocket and laid several bills on the bar. As he shrugged on his coat, Belle had a thought.

“Come to the library with me,” she said, gaining her feet and digging money out of her purse. Leroy’s graying eyebrows rose in question. “A lot of books and journals came over with the curse. There has to be _something_ on memory spells there.” Leroy needed focus and she needed distraction. It was a perfect solution as far as Belle was concerned.

Determination sparked in his tired eyes. “You really think there’s something in there that can help Nova?”

“I’m sure of it,” Belle said with a smile. She had only scratched the surface on the library’s catalogue, and figured they could fall back to Rumple’s private collection if all else failed. A fierce grin broke Leroy’s pained mask and he gained a bounce in his step as he nodded his agreement. The fire of purpose filled her heart and Belle reveled in it as she led the man out of the bar.

**\---**

**Henry II**

**\---**

Henry meandered along the streets of Storybrooke, lost in his own world of thought. When he had been proven right about everyone in town being a character from the Enchanted Forest, he had expected his life to evolve and become as interesting as the stories he held dear. At first, learning to fight with a sword with his grandfather and helping communicate with Princess Aurora across _realms_ because they had both been under a sleeping curse had been everything he had ever hoped for.

Even when they went to find Rumplestiltskin’s son, the situation had been terrifying, but Henry had been able to contribute. And he had met his _father_ along the way, almost exactly like the hero in one of his stories would. Henry could still not fully wrap his mind that fact, and was not able to crack the knot of feelings he held when he thought about the man laying sick in the hospital. Every time he did, sadness and frustration would combine and make him feel angry, which Henry did not enjoy, and so tried to avoid thinking about the situation as much as he could.

What he did know was that with both the attack of Anton the Giant and the battle with is mom’s mom, Henry never had the chance to offer his help. But as much disappointment he felt, it lived in the shadow of the guilt that wrung at his stomach.

Emma had gotten hurt both times. _Bad_ , and it scared him to the core. If he had been there either time, well, he was not sure what he _could_ have done, but he would have tried _something_.

A new plan formulated in his mind and Henry turned south down the next road, his steps hitting the ground with a newfound purpose. He was a prince of the Enchanted Forest, and he would not fall short on his duties to protect its citizens.

The walk to the sheriff station took him less than ten minutes.

There was no other car in the parking lot beside one the town’s two police cruisers, and Henry figured that was for the best. Less of a chance for distractions.

The inside of the building rang with a spooky stillness that set Henry’s nerves on edge. After the doors banged closed behind him, he could hear nothing else inside the station. Not even the beeping and complaining of their ancient computers. Henry frowned and moved forward with cautious steps, wondering if his grandfather had gone on patrol this early.

The station floor proved to be as abandoned as it had sounded, the dust motes dancing in the sun beams being the only movement he could see. He sighed in disappointment, resigning himself to a wait, but someone made a hissing sound like they’d just been pinched and Henry did _not_ jump a foot off the ground in fright, whirling around.

The sound repeated itself a second later and Henry determined the source came from Emma’s office. The blinds were drawn closed, but the door stood ajar by inches. He crept his way to it, wishing he had his practice sword. If someone meant to do something bad in Emma’s office, surprise would be his only weapon.

The door slipped open under his touch, inch by inch, until he could poke his head through and see inside. His mouth went dry and jaw hung loose at the sight before him, mind crawling to a halt.

Ruby stood in the middle of the office, her back to him, and was unwrapping red and brown stained bandages from around her middle. Every few seconds her motion hitched and she made a pained sound.

It barely registered with Henry as his mind shouted at him that he was seeing a _girl_ in nothing but jeans and a _bra_. The moment of pure awe passed and Henry knew he really, _really_ shouldn’t be seeing this while sneaking around, but he registered another fact before he could do the smart thing and back away.

A length of scaly-looking, angry red skin about the width of his three fingers started at the base of Ruby’s neck, arcing down her shoulder and disappearing around her front only to reappear on the opposite side a few inches down. The burn scar circled her over and over again, each section getting closer together as it approached the small of Ruby’s back.

When she removed the last of her bandages, Henry saw that the scar continued to coil around her, disappearing beneath the line of jeans.

Ruby grunted and dropped the bandages into a red garbage bin labelled “Hazard.” She leaned her hands on the wall in front of her and let out a long, edged sigh. Her scar appeared to writhe with each breath.

Henry gathered his wits and slipped his head back out of the doorway, retreating to the station’s main hallway. Guilt weighed down his shoulders and he leaned against the wall, head hung and eyes closed. He had not even considered how badly Ruby had gotten hurt in fighting Cora. Once again the idea that he could have been there to tip the scales overwhelmed his thoughts, and he grew angry that he had been safe and sound over a hundred of miles away.

His fists tightened until he could feel his fingernails digging impressions into his palms.

“Henry?” His attention snapped back to the present and a blush blazed to life in his cheeks. He raised his eyes to meet Ruby’s, trying in vain to push back the red tinge of guilt from his skin. Ruby had put on a shirt again – loose and flowy, Henry noticed – and was looking at him with a concerned frown. “You feeling alright?” She moved to put the back of her hand against his forehead, but he dodged her.

“Uh, yeah!” He winced. Why did his voice have to crack _now_? “I just, uh, needed to find my grandfather?” His tone rose at the end, not hiding the lie. Ruby raised a disbelieving eyebrow but didn’t call him on it, to his immense relief.

“You’ve just missed him,” she said with an amused tilt of her head. “He went to bring lunch to Snow and Emma.” Henry nodded his understanding. Emma was recovering from the battle, and it was a slow process. His grandparents hardly let her out of their sight, doting on her like his mom used to do for him when he was sick. Emma would argue and tell them to stop treating her like a kid, but then she’d get this little smile and his grandparents would be beaming with happiness…

He shook his head, putting off the mysterious weirdness of grownups to be solved at a later time.

“Well,” he said, trailing the word off into a pause. “I was hoping to see where I could try to help? I mean, there’s got to be something you guys need someone else to help finish, right?”

“Maybe,” she said, still smiling. “But I think you’d be better off just being there for your family, Henry.” She put warm, squeezing hands onto his shoulders. “You’d be surprised how much just having someone around can help, and your mom’s going through a tough time right now.” Her eyes glanced down and to the side and she let out a quick sigh. “ _Both_ of them are.

“And you’ve had a rough couple days of it to, or so I’ve heard.” Something twinkled in her dark eyes and her smile turned wolfish. Henry’s mouth went try and he found he couldn’t look away. “Did you really take down a swordsman with one kick?”

It took a couple seconds before his brain registered the need to talk. “Uh, yeah.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his next, suddenly sheepish. “But he wasn’t expecting it. I got really lucky.”

Ruby waved him off. “Even so, you’ve earned a little R-and-R.” She turned him around and started to march him to the door, hands still on his shoulders. “I have to help with the debate prep tonight, but I’ll drop you at Regina’s first.”

“That’s the complete opposite direction?”

Ruby laughed. “It’s the least I can do for Storybrooke’s resident up-and-coming hero. Besides,” she said, leaning over his shoulder so that she could meet his eyes and give him a conspiratorial wink. Something in Henry’s stomach flipped. “I’m not looking forward to dealing Midas’ lackeys, so any distraction’s a good one.”

“Glad I could help?” That earned him another laugh and the woman led him to the remaining squad car. Henry kept one eye on her the entire ride to his mother’s house, but Ruby never so much as winced. She was masking her pain, and Henry wondered not only _why_ she did so, but also _how._ The scar had looked brutal from what he had seen…

A new blush crept up the back of his neck and Henry looked away, pressing his forehead against the window in the hopes it would stop the flush in its tracks.

Henry managed to make it the rest of the way home without embarrassing himself, and, after a cheerful goodbye from Ruby, he bounded up the walkway in the hopes of escaping the early afternoon chill. He mourned the loss of his scarf as the cold breeze bit against his exposed neck, but the moment he stepped inside the house, the warmth wrapped around him like a snug blanket and the smell of baking apples set his mouth to water.

Music wafted out of the kitchen as well, and Henry found his mother in the midst of a baking storm. There was no mess, but the counters were _cluttered_ with half empty bags of powders, sliced apples, diced nuts, and a whole mess of other things that Henry knew belonged to more than one desert. The former queen did not notice him come in, intent on studying a notebook laying on the countertop, her eyebrows furrowed in irritation as she flipped through the pages.

She wore jeans and a simple tee shirt with her hair pulled back into a tail, and it was the most casual Henry had ever seen her dress. He had no idea if it was a good sign or not.

“Hi?” She spun on her heals, a wide smile erasing the frustration that had existed seconds before.

“Henry,” she said, sounding surprised. “I thought you would be with Emma today.”

“The apartment gets really crowded sometimes.” He said the excuse with a shrug and stuffed his hands into his pockets. His mom’s eyes flicked down to them but she didn’t press the issue. “What’s all this?” He nodded toward the array of partially completed desserts and his mother let out a rueful laugh.

“The tree’s fruit were at the right point,” she said. “I never like to let them go to waste, you know that.” Henry did, but never saw her do quite this _much_ before.

“Planning to hand it out at the debate?” He guessed. His mother blinked once, then twice, before responding.

“I hadn’t thought of it,” she said. “But I doubt a slice of apple pie will win me any votes.” Her smile went a little weird for a second.

“I don’t know,” Henry said, shooting out a finger to steal filling from a nearby bowl. It tasted of cinnamon heaven. “It’s pretty good pie.” They shared a chuckle and his mom flipped her notebook closed and pushed it to the back of the counter. He watched, quiet, as she retrieved the same bowl and started spooning its contents into _four_ separate pie crusts.

In a moment of clarity, he realized she was trying to distract herself from something. He would do the same thing, though his distraction came by way of his practice sword rather than making a feast. He deduced it must have been caused by the battle from days ago. Henry knew Cora was locked away at the hospital, but nothing more.

“Have you been to see her?” He asked, and his mother spilled filling on the counter. She glared at the sludgy concoction.

“No,” she said and grabbed a towel. As she cleaned up the mess, Henry noticed her movements became stiffer.

“It’s okay,” he said, and grimaced. “I haven’t been to see my dad yet, either.” She froze, the knuckles on the hand gripping the towel going to white as she squeezed the life out of the fabric. But when turned around, Henry found nothing but sympathy on her face.

“Oh Henry…” She crossed the room and took his hands in hers, squeezing tight. “I don’t think the situation with Mr. Cassidy is quite the same.”

“I think I’m too scared to go,” he said, ignoring her words and looking down. “And I know I should, and it would probably help, but I just…” He trailed off and shook his head.

Several beats passed before his mother gave a hesitant reply. “Maybe if you had someone go with you, it would make it easier to face?” He raised his eyes back to hers and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Can we…?” She closed her eyes for another few seconds before nodding with a long breath.

“Let me go change.” She left to do so and Henry looked over the chaotic not-mess in the kitchen once more. His mom needed this as much as he did, Henry determined with a nod, and went to wait by the old Mercedes.

They would face their fears, together as a family, and come away stronger.

**\---**

**Killian II**

**\---**

Killian continued what had become his only pastime these last few days. He stared at the ceiling, did not move, and _thought_. Every day that he woke up not dead was a pleasant surprise for him, but the negligible amount of relief would fade before long. He waited for the moment Rumplestiltskin pulled back the privacy curtains once again to finish what he started.

As always, the thought brought nothing but indifference from Killian as he languished away in complete and utter boredom.

A plain looking nurse appeared from beyond the screens and performed her typical midmorning routine. The tasks that had once been humiliating had become routine to the pirate in the days since his arrival. He watched with disinterest as she redressed his wounds, noting that they looked less angry and discolored than they had the day before, but took little solace in the sight.

It would still be weeks before he would be back on his feet, and longer still until his strength returned to him. By which point, he was sure, Swan and the Evil Queen would have him secured in a cell beneath the hospital just as they had done with Cora.

While the Dark One still roamed free, to be cowed and loved by the woman he’d replaced Milah with.

He supposed the injustice should have infuriated him, but Killian could not muster the energy to do more than glare at the same spot on the ceiling that had been suffering his wrath for days.

_Come to me_ , a voice whispered in his ear. It was deep, feminine, and as smooth as honey. It brought Killian the same comfort as listening to the ocean break on the _Jolly Rogers’_ prow. _Come to me_ , the gentle command repeated. _And let no one stop you._

If he should have been shocked or frightened at the voice in his head, Killian did not feel it. Instead, he watched with a numbed disconnect as he threw his feet over the edge of the bed and began tearing the wiring and needles off his body. The machines by his bedside blared their protest, and the bullet wounds flared pain at his brain, but Killian ignored both.

He stood, took a long moment to find his balance, and began to walk. A gaggle of nurses watched him with wide eyes as he went, shouting their protests, but Killian paid them no mind. The one they called Whale thought to contain him and received the blunt end of Killian’s left wrist to his throat for his trouble. Had Killian still had his hook, the man’s throat would have decorated the walls.

He stepped over the spluttering doctor and found the emergency stairs before anyone could think to accost him. Alarms rang out as he opened the door, but Killian hurried down the steps, his breathing gaining a ragged edge as he tried to push speed out of his unused muscles.

He burst out into the frigid autumn air and his steps almost halted as the cold sank into his skin. His feet took the brunt of it, but with each motion against the wind he was acutely reminded he wore nothing but the thin gown provided by the hospital. Which, judging from the stares he received from passersby as he strode along the sidewalk, was also open in the back.

Yet he powered on, some distant part of his thoughts put together what was happening, but the terror the realization should have inspired simply was not there. He had no purpose but to follow the orders given to him.

_Come to me!_ The voice repeated itself, more urgent than before. It translated to Killian’s stride breaking into a run. Warmth bloomed down the right side of his chest and back, and a glance showed his wounds had torn open, seeping blood. Killian pushed all the harder to move forward, _needing_ to finish his task before he lost consciousness.

He did not know where he was going, but somehow his steps took him on a path he felt confident led to his destination. As he made it to the edge of town and his steps turned away from pavement to freezing earth. His pace floundered as he fought to run through underbrush without losing his footing to a stray root or log.

He felt certain that a fall would spell certain death.

Minutes or hours later, sweating, freezing, panting, and bleeding, Killian came across a cave that sent a sense of satisfaction down his spine. Had he not been summoned, he doubted he would have found it. The opening hid between a pair of rocky outcroppings, and Killian had to duck his head to fit beneath.

“—long are we going to wait here? It’s goddamned freezing.” A man’s voice spoke, full of irritation.

“Patience, Owen.” The second speaker was the woman who whispered orders in his head. “I only know the theory, but this should be working. Come to me.”

_Come to me._ Her voice reached his ears and spoke in his mind at the same moment, and Killian rounded a bend to find her staring at a glowing red and black crystal in her hand.

With his objective complete, Killian’s thoughts came back to an instant focus. Pain bloomed from _everywhere_ and a wave of vertigo had Killian putting the majority of his weight against the cave wall to keep from collapsing to the ground. He bit back the agony and forced himself to focus on the one who would _dare_ steal his heart.

She watched him with a toothy smirk, her black eyes glittering in triumph. With her high cheekbones, angular features, silky hair, and dark skin, she made for a pretty sight. Had she not held the key to his free will in her hands, he would think to pursue her.

“Holy shit, it worked!” The man spoke. He was much less remarkable than his companion, with his balding head and features beginning to show the curse of age. His wide smile held the edge of a predator, though, and Killian knew better than to dismiss such a person out of hand.

“And he’s dead on his feet.” The woman’s look of victory had fallen as she registered Kilian’s state. He tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled cry of pain. His legs gave way beneath him and his ass met rough, chilled stone. The woman placed his heart in a bag and crossed over to him, pressing one hand to his forehead and the other to his neck. Her hands were warm, soft, and pleasant.

“Fever and erratic heartbeat,” she said, cursing. “You’re going to have to stabilize him, Owen.” The man did a double take.

“Me?” He gestured to himself in disbelief. “You’ve always been better at field treatment. One mistake and he’s dead.” Killian felt the chances of his survival dwindling with every passing moment. The woman smiled at Owen and rose to her feet.

“I have full faith in you.” She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his neck in an embrace. Killian watched in disbelief as she pulled him into a deep, heated kiss. His measure for the man increased even as his patience ran out.

He grunted, trying to focus to vocalize his objection to them letting him _bleed out_ , but he could not form words. The noise drew their attention in any case and while Owen looked annoyed, the woman only shot him an amused smile.

“Besides,” she said, looking back to Owen. “I have an appearance to make at the hospital.” She released the man and stepped back, winking. “It would be unusual for a fiancé not to visit, wouldn’t it?” She gathered the bag with Killian’s heart and made for the mouth of the cave. “I’ll report back any thing I can dig up!” She called over her shoulder, and was gone.

Owen’s face morphed through several shades of discomfort and annoyance as the woman left before his eyes settled on Killian. “It’s going to take weeks for you to be useful.” He sneered, spat on the ground, and shook his head. Killian braced his hand on the ground in an effort to leverage himself up, but the injured limb could not handle the weight, and the pirate was sent sprawling after gaining only an inch.

“For fuck’s sake.” Owen grumbled out the words and moved to Killian’s side. He was dimly aware of the man lifting beneath his uninjured shoulder, but the blackness closed in at the edge of his vision and Killian lost his battle with unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated how to arrange these scenes quite a bit, but ended up leaving them in the same order in which they were written. Now, each of the four takes place in roughly the same timeframe: Between 11am - 1pm three days following the battle with Cora, so assume the events happen relatively simultaneously.
> 
> And how about our field of powers shifting, yeah? Cora's off the board, Rumple seems to be falling to the dark side again, Greg & Tamara have Killian under their complete control (they will be much more competent than in canon, be warned), and I can promise that the Midas Bunch have not been idle in their time offscreen. Things are getting even more interesting in our sleepy little Maine town, aren't they?
> 
> Also, random factoid, there was to be an extremely short section of this chapter with a different PoV that I had to cut as it simply didn't fit in well with the rest of the narrative tone. I'll just mention two things about it: It was titled Mulan I, and there's a new power creeping up in the Enchanted Forest...
> 
> I'll be trying to fit it in somewhere.
> 
> In the meantime, let me know what you thought! How will Regina react to seeing her mother dead, especially having put off her chance for closure? How will Emma? With Neal back on his feet, what impact will he have on the story? Will he find out about his father's actions? And what of the fairies? Is Leroy paranoid, or is Blue actually a shady ho?
> 
> Stay tuned and find out!


	15. Regina IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter this week, but I feel this scene is poignant enough to stand on its own. Enjoy!

Regina traced her finger along the black marble, and left a trail of engraved stone in her wake. The magic flowed out of her at a steady, pulsing rhythm as Regina constructed each letter with painstaking care. Within minutes she let out a breath as “CORA MILLS” was chipped out of the stone in bold, blocky text. The grey rock beneath the glossed cover stone offered a stark contrast.

With a frown, she waved her hand over the letters and their color morphed into a muted gold. The name only took up the upper third of the three foot block of stone that was to serve as her mother’s grave marker, and Regina hesitated as she studied the blank space beneath. Her reflection glared back at her, and Regina looked away.

What could she possibly put there? Devoted wife, loving mother, loyal friend? A cracking sound that passed for a laugh bubbled out of Regina’s throat. She would not lie for the woman in death, but carving the truth of who her mother was into stone would felt like it would be petty. A teenager’s passive aggressive revenge against the authority figure that held them back.

Still, the words came to her mind. _Master manipulator, seeker of power, stealer of hearts, mistress of the dark arts.._. She sank to the cold, freshly packed dirt and sat, oddly amused at her polite choice of insults. Some mental block prevented her from acknowledging the depths of her mother’s worst traits.

She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. In passing, Dr. Hopper had once offered her the advice of not letting herself internalize her emotions. That it would be better to acknowledge them, deal with the consequences, and move on. At the time she had snapped at him and advised him to keep his psychoanalysis limited to his office, but it had been several days.

And she knew something still wasn’t right in her head. Not when it came to Cora Mills.

It felt ironic to have to work through it this way. Her clever, sweet boy had convinced her to confront her own fears under the guise of conquering his own. She had been ready to begin to seek closure, but instead would have the memory of Henry’s horrified expression burned into her memory for the rest of her life.

_Why_ had she let him bound ahead of her? Her hands dug into the earth, but she caught her frustration and tried to breathe it away. Her fingers unclenched slowly and she laid her palms flat against the ground.

Finding Cora tied down, glassy eyes wide, and mouth forever locked open in a silent roar of fury had frozen Regina in place for single heartbeat. She remembered racing through disbelief, surprise, anger, _relief_ , guilt, and frustration before wanting to fly into a rage of her own, track down whomever was responsible, and _end_ them.

But Henry’s scream had grounded her, and something in her head had _clicked._ She was able to get to a state of mind that let her deal with the situation at hand without devolving into a complete mess. After pulling Henry away from the scene, the faux detachment had not left her as the rest of the day blurred by.

Getting help for Ratched and the asylum’s janitor. Calling in the cavalry. Charming and Ruby showing up to process the scene. Whale sending one of his underlings to collect the body as one his patients made a “miraculous recovery.” Charming’s promise that they would figure this out with his awkward attempts to offer comfort. Henry wanting to stay with her that night. Keeping a brave face for her son so he would not worry more than he already did.

Ignoring Emma’s calls. Finding solace in cider…

She shook her head to bring herself back to the present. The moment Whale released the body, she had raced to the hospital to claim it and put her mother to rest. She hoped the finality of it would bring her the closure she knew she needed, but she could not find that torrent of energetic emotions that had initially taken her.

She just felt tired. Strained. Stretched to the point where she feared she would snap back and crumple under the pressure.

“I thought I’d find you in your mausoleum thing,” Emma Swan spoke from somewhere behind her, and Regina bowed her head, resigned to the fact she would not be alone this evening. Leaves crunched as the blonde approached and Regina spared her a glance over her shoulder. Dressed in simple boots, jeans, and her red leather jacket bound over a charcoal scarf, Regina almost felt nostalgia for the night they met.

The steaming styrofoam cups she held in her gloved hands would be a welcome sight as well in different circumstances.

“Sheriff,” she said without moving to get up.

“No badge,” she said, tapping her hip with the bottom of a cup. “Still off duty.” Emma offered one of the cups down to her, the threat of a smile twitching on the corner of her lips. Her cheeks were flushed with cold and her breaths came in a quick rhythm as if she’d been walking for a long while.

Regina studied the cup in the woman’s extended hand, frowning, and turned her attention away. “I don’t need a babysitter, Miss Swan.” She crossed her arms over her knees and stared at the blank space on her mother’s grave. Emma sat next to her with a sigh, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on open knees.

“Didn’t think you did.” She sipped at one of the coffees, humming her appreciation. “But you shouldn’t be alone.”

Her nostrils flared and Regina tried to keep her patience. “I am not going to go dark on a blind quest for revenge.” She went for irritated sarcasm and ended up with tired monotone. “You don’t have to protect anyone from me. Not today.”

“Regina,” Emma said with a hint of rebuke. “That’s not what I meant, and some part of you has to know that. _I_ know you’re not going to go on a rampage.” She let out a humorless huff of a laugh. “But this situation’s weird. And confusing. And messy. And I thought you could use someone to…. I don’t know, help?”

Regina sighed and bowed her head to rest her forehead on her crossed arms. Her jacket was cool and soothing. “I don’t need help to mourn my mother.”

“I know you don’t _need_ it,” Emma said. “I know you are strong enough to handle this on your own, but I thought you might _want_ a friend around anyway.”

She could not prevent the scoff from sounding before she spoke. “You think we are friends?” She turned her head to cast an incredulous glance toward the woman, hair falling in her eyes.

Emma seemed taken aback. “Well… yeah?” Her eyes bored into Regina’s, gaining an edge and intensity the former mayor had not expected. “I mean, I know it’s almost crazy after everything, but we’ve had each other’s backs now for weeks, Regina.”

_Versus months of antagonism,_ Regina’s sardonic thought came unbidden, but Emma continued on before she could voice it.

“The circumstances weren’t the _best_ , but we managed not to kill each other.” She made good on her earlier threat as she gave Regina a small grin. “And it turns out you’re not awful company. You’re just…” She trailed off, seeming to choose her words. “Easy to talk to, I guess. I figured you might feel the same.”

She held out the cup again, the steam rising out of the lid both enticing Regina with the promise of warmth and threatening the possibility of an actual, human, bond outside of her son.

Regina did not know why she hesitated, but she found herself staring at the offered beverage for long seconds without moving. Emma just sat, patient and smiling, waiting on an answer. Regina had accepted Kathryn’s renewed friendship without much concern or scrutiny, and whatever gave her pause now escaped her grasp, slipping through her fingers before she could figure out the answer.

The closest to the truth she could come up with was that this felt like it would be a truer risk.

She turned away from Emma's offered hand, looking back to the blank space beneath her mother's name. The woman had never thought well on Regina's choice in companions. From the time she was a young child until the tragedy with Daniel, Cora had always imposed her will on every relationship Regina tried to nurture. Even after Regina had banished her, Cora's specter would loom, ever present, tinging every decision Regina would make in some shape or form.

But now the woman was gone. Well and truly gone.

And Regina realized the most prominent of the emotions she felt was relief. As awful as that was. Beyond the initial panic and aggression, before the well of grief and regret she knew lurked beneath the surface, Regina found herself enjoying the release from a constant pressure she had not realized she still carried around.

She reached out to her side and took the cup from Emma, bringing it to her lips and tasting chocolate instead of the bitter warmth of coffee. She let out a sighing laugh.

“You are such a child.”

She heard the smile in Emma's voice. “Nothing's better this time of year than hot chocolate.” The warmth of it spread from her stomach through the rest her, the cloying sweetness of it sat on Regina's tongue. She took another sip and did not speak, allowing herself the beginnings of a grin.

Seconds dragged into minutes and they sat in silence. The small cheer Regina had built ebbed away into the somber reality of the day. Regina saw Emma fidgeting with the grass out of the corner of her eye, and reasoned they could not just sit there in silence forever.

“I chose this spot,” she said to answer Emma's initial question. “ _Because_ it's so far away from the mausoleum.” She felt Emma's eyes turn toward her, but Regina did not look to meet them. The prospect of opening up, even such a small amount was difficult enough without looking the other woman to see her reaction. “That is my father's final resting place, and my mother...” She glared at the engraved name for a moment. “Does _not_ deserve the chance to interrupt that.”

“I don't think I've ever heard you mention your father before, even through all of this,” Emma said with a hint of hesitation. She suspected she was treading on dangerous ground, Regina surmised, but that did not stop the sheriff from pressing on. “Were you two close?”

The warmth of his heart turning to ashen dust in her fingers came to her as a memory that felt near tangible. Her fist closed over open air. “Yes. My father... Gave everything for me.” _And you_ took _everything._

“Had to be a hell of a guy to match your mother,” Emma said, deadpan.

Regina grimaced. “They never were a match. My father was a sweet man, but he was never bold.” She could not remember every time her father had done something kind for her only for her mother to put an end to it in the harshest of ways. It had happened so often that Regina had been half sure her father had been in on her mother’s schemes, and aimed only to make her more miserable by extending Regina a glimpse of hope for her mother to snuff out.

Only seeing the man’s sheer relief the night Regina told him she had banished her mother had confirmed he had been under the woman’s heel just as much as Regina had. Just pawns in Cora’s greater aims.

“I guess that shouldn’t be much of a surprise. She never struck me as much of a team player.” The past tense sounded queer to Regina’s ears. She wondered how long it would take to not feel out of place.

“No,” Regina agreed. She tested the past tense on her own tongue. “She wasn’t.” It tasted no more normal than it sounded. She closed her eyes and pushed the oddness away.

“She was driven,” Emma said with a hint of finality. Regina glanced to the blonde, who nodded her chin toward the gravestone. Regina raised a questioning eyebrow. “It was the truth.” Emma shrugged. “And it doesn’t really acknowledge—”

“What she really was.” Regina finished for her, searching Emma’s eyes, but the woman was looking at the stone and nodding. “It’s kinder than she probably deserves.”

Emma turned her attention back to Regina. “The words wouldn’t be for her, Regina.” _Oh_ , Regina thought. She could not keep eye contact and looked back to her mother’s grave, considering. She raised her finger and called upon her mix of emotions to form the energy for her engraving spell.

Emma watched in silence while she traced the letters out in the same style as her mother’s name.

“I don’t understand how you can get that much control,” Emma said with a hint of both admiration and frustration.

“Just… time,” Regina said, dropping her hand and feeling exhausted to the bone. Seeing the memorial completed held an air of finality that took the wind out of Regina’s sails. “I still need to find out who did this.” She had her suspicions, but had not had time to follow through.

“We will,” Emma said. A tentative hand gripped her shoulder. Regina looked at it, blinking. “We just—” Emma was cut off by her phone ringing. She sighed and pulled it out with a grimace, answering, “Swan.” Regina heard a masculine voice speak over the other end of the line and the warmth left Regina’s shoulder as Emma stood. “I’m still off duty, David. Why can’t you handle it?”

Regina gained her feet as well, dusting off her pants and gazing down at mother’s final resting place and thoughts turning toward the future.

“What do you mean you’re compromised?” Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes scrunching closed. “God damn it, is everyone all right?” She nodded several times and sagged as David responded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right there.” She pulled the phone away from her ear glared at it with a sense of weary resignation.

“What’s going on?” Emma sighed.

“There’s been an assault,” the sheriff said, her knuckles going white around her cell. “Moe French found Anton’s beanfield.”

Regina let a low breath out through her nose, thinking through the ramifications. The beans had been a guarded secret, and they had all taken the gamble that they would not be discovered until they were sure they would be a viable option – or so had been the Charmings’ thought process. With Moe French being one of Midas’ lickspittles… “You’ll need to contain the situation,” she said.

Emma nodded, her eyes going soft for a quick moment before determination sparked in their depths. “We need to get there, then.” Emma nodded her head toward the path before turning and striding toward it, assuming Regina would follow.

The former queen glanced back at her mother’s final resting place and did not feel torn. “Farewell, Mother.” She muttered the words and moved to follow Emma out of the cemetery, never gazing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I originally intended to rush forward on the plot, but decided to pump the brakes and show a little Emma/Regina time when their lives weren't on the line. As I mentioned above, this chapter was originally meant to be longer, but I couldn't add to it without taking away from the impact of Regina walking away from her mother's grave.
> 
> And make no mistake, Regina will still be on the hunt for her mother's killer, but I wanted to show how Regina is able to put being a mother above all. Had Henry not been there when she discovered the body, who knows what would have happened or what Regina would have done in her moment of pure, agonized grief? Henry gave her something to focus on, which was strung along by until this chapter, where everyone's favorite Sheriff reared her helpful head.
> 
> Next time, we're back to moving the plot forward and picking up pretty much where we left off. Likely an Emma chapter, though there's a decent shot of being a David chapter as well. I'll have to see which grabs the attention more.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little pause in the action!


	16. Emma V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that midseason finale kind of sucked, eh? Not going to lie, it sapped my desire to write in the same universe as this show right quick. But then a couple days passed and I was able to buck up and remember when I truly loved Once and why I was attempting to do it some justice. And so Emma V survived, and here we are.
> 
> Enjoy!

If pulled in front of a judge and asked to speak the truth or suffer the direst of consequences, Emma would swear up and down that she had tried damnedest not to show her amusement at Regina’s expense. Despite her will to stop herself, she could not prevent the grin that built from the way Regina’s hands would shift into a vice-like grip on her seat every time Emma took a corner in the bug. Long experience told her that the aging vehicle would hold it together despite the speed she held as she weaved through Storybrooke’s streets, but Regina had no such knowledge to draw from.

And Emma may have taken several turns sharper than necessary just to tease the woman, which may have been petty, but Emma justified it by reasoning that she rarely saw Regina out of her comfort zone without a matter of life or death looming over them.

And it might keep her mind looking ahead, rather than dwelling in the past.

“I’m never letting Henry ride in this thing ever again,” Regina said after the old bug’s engine whined while Emma accelerated through another corner.

“She’ll hold together.” Emma nodded toward the spinning blue light sitting on her dashboard. Combined with her vigorous use of the horn and the townsfolk’s knowledge of the yellow bug, the light cleared their path toward the beanfield. “I don’t even have to weave through traffic, this is nothing for her.” Regina muttered under her breath and Emma choked back a laugh, sobering only as they approached the coordinates David had supplied her with.

It appeared to her as nothing more than an empty field that stretched on for several dozen yards before the trees began to eat away at the space.

She frowned, but pulled the bug to a stop before assuming she was lost. She closed her eyes and tried to reach out with her “magical senses” as Regina had taught her. She felt nothing but foolish for a long minute before something tinged the edge of her mind, feeling… slippery? She blinked her eyes open and looked toward the open field, squinting and still trying to focus.

Every time she thought she grasped what energy she was feeling, it escaped her grasp. “Damn it,” she muttered. She _knew_ something was there, but did not have enough information to put it together.

“Sometimes the lack of information can be a clue in itself,” Regina said. A small, almost encouraging smile tilted the corner of her lips. “It’s not designed to be observed.” Emma glanced back toward the field, unsurprised Regina had known what she had been trying to do. From her words, Emma figured Regina already knew what was going on.

Magic that could be observed, but not directly… “Veil?” She guessed, and Regina nodded.

“Fairy work,” the sorceress said with a hint of resignation. “You can always tell fairy work.” Without bothering to explain what she meant by that, Regina slipped out of the car. Emma hastened to do the same, taking the lead.

“No defenses,” Regina said, head tilted to the side and eyes unfocused. “Just meant to obscure, not to prevent entry.”

“Good,” Emma said and stepped forward. Walking through the veil felt exactly how Emma imagined going through a Stargate would feel like – stepping through a film of jelly. Nothing clung to her or prevented her from passing through, and Emma realized the sensation was purely felt by her metaphysical senses. “That is,” she tried to think of a proper word as a two row garden of beanstalks as tall as she was blinked into life in front of her. “Unsettling.”

“You’re starting to use the basics,” Regina said. “The _very_ basics, but I will take any sort of progress as a good sign at this point.” Emma gave her a halfhearted glare, but Regina’s attention was stolen by something beyond the stalks, her eyebrows raised in amusement. Emma followed her line of sight to spot a disheveled David and Tom Clark weaving between the magical plants toward them. David sported a bloodied nose and split lip, but otherwise not worse for wear.

The cashier turned miner turned farmer looked at her with one wide brown eye and squinted through the other as it swelled shut. “Sheriff! You’ve got to, to,” Tom said, pausing when a series of sneezes overtook him. He groaned after the small fit and glared at the plants around him, rubbing at his reddening nose with the back of his left hand. “Always something new.” He sighed, ran the possibly snot hand through his dark, ruffled hair, and seemed to lose his train of thought.

“Tom?” He didn’t respond. She glanced to Regina, who rolled her eyes.

David sighed, tapping the dwarf on the shoulder. “Sneezy?” The man jumped back to attention, turning toward the former prince. “Focus.” He blinked, looked at Emma, and held up a finger in an “ah-ha” gesture.

“Right, sorry.” He drew himself up, smiled, and then continued in the same frantic tone he had begun with. “You’ve got to get them out of here, they’re ruining the crop!” Emma blinked not quite sure what to make of Sneezy’s mercurial mood. She pasted on a confident smile, gave him a sharp nod, and strode between the rows of beanstalks. David followed a step behind, explaining the situation, and Regina brought up the rear.

“I came to make my daily check on the progress,” David said. “I didn’t realize I was being followed, and, well…” He nodded toward the end of the row. Each only held a dozen plants, and the last two that capped each row appeared withered, colored a dim yellow rather than the vibrant green of the others.

Emma frowned, wondering why anyone would be tailing a town deputy. “Who was it?” Emma need not have asked as she found Moe French and Sean Herman hogtied just outside the garden, sitting back to back and guarded by the rest of the dwarves, save Leroy, and the giant that had come within a hairsbreadth of killing her.

She found her hand moving toward her gun of its own accord before she forced it to stop, fist clenching.

“Okay then,” she said, not taking her eyes off Anton. The man shrunk under her gaze, appearing as harmless as a chastised toddler. Unlike his compatriots, he sported no injuries that she could spot. Her arm burned with the shadow of remembered pain. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

Muffled protestations drew her attention to Moe, whose balding head shined red enough to rival Sneezy’s nose. He glared up at her with his beady little eyes, his red-stained teeth bared around the dirty rag serving as a gag. Emma closed her eyes, counted to ten, and leaned over to free both Moe and Sean so they could speak.

Moe wasted less than a breath to begin letting out hot air. “Your family won’t keep getting away with this, Sheriff.” He turned his head and spat both dirt and blood. Emma appreciated that the situation had gotten so bad that he would spit _at_ her. She hated when they did that. “Keeping something this big from everyone? Not even the townies will be able to look past it.”

“We already told you they aren’t ready, Nitwit!” Doc’s high pitched voice echoed with annoyance, his wispy, flyaway hair dancing in the light breeze. Emma noticed his spectacles hanging from his shirt with one lens missing and the other cracked. She stepped beneath the bound men and the dwarves, cutting off their line of sight.

“If anyone has any common sense,” she said, looking at each man in the clearing individually. “Nobody will _think_ to turn this into a pissing contest.” The dwarves shuffled in place with varying degrees of sheepishness, Anton shrunk into himself, David smiled, Regina smirked, and Moe sneered, but his partner just hung his head and seemed to shrink in on himself.

“Sean.” She chose her target, pulling him to his feet by the ropes binding his wrists. “Let’s take a walk and talk.” Wide eyed and trembling some, Sean nodded and moved without resisting her. She cast a quick look at Regina before pushing the man into the garden. “Keep them from doing anything stupid.” Regina lifted an eyebrow in a haughty expression that told Emma just how beneath her Regina believed the assignment to be.

But she nodded her agreement.

“I’ll start getting statements from the dwarves,” David said, and Emma put a kibosh on it without a moment’s thought.

“No, David. You called me in for a reason.” She glanced at the volatile Moe still struggling against his restraints. She sighed, already knowing this entire situation would be one hell of a headache. “We can’t afford to do anything but follow the book. You were involved. Sit tight and wait for me to take _your_ statement.” He grimaced, sighed, and nodded. Satisfied, she shoved Sean forward until they were on the opposite side of the sizeable garden.

“Sheriff,” Sean said the moment she turned him around. Emma noted the blossoming bruise on his jaw and how he took his weight off his left leg as soon as he was able. “I didn’t want something like this to happen, but Mr. French. He, he.” He shook his head, shaggy hair flying, and licked cracked lips. “He just went _off_. Didn’t even try and talk.”

Emma absorbed the information in silence, surprised she had not even had to _try_ and intimidate the kid. Either he completely lacked his father’s backbone, or he was hiding something behind a mask of cooperation. Emma’s instincts leaned her toward the former.

But to be sure… “Blame your partner for everything,” Emma said, nodding. “A classic, kid, but you’ll have to do better.” Sean bristled at being called ‘kid,’ and stood up straighter.

“It’s the truth,” he said. “I even told him not to follow your dad in here, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Emma hid her discomfort at the flippant mention of her familial relationship. She did not want to think what everyone else accepting the truth so much easier than her said about her mentality. “And why exactly were you tailing a Storybrooke deputy around town?”

Sean swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “There’ve been rumors that he’s been hiding something. A way for him and Snow White to take over the town and turn it into their personal kingdom.”

“Funny,” Emma said, eyebrow raising in disbelief and challenge. “People have been saying the same about Midas and your father.” He shifted, grimacing as he put weight on his injured leg.

“My dad isn’t even running for mayor.” Sean reasoned. Without denying Emma’s claim, she noticed. “He just wants what’s best for the town.” She did not believe the claim, but Sean _did_.

“Then he has something in common with David and Mary Margaret.” Sean gave her a queer look, whether from her calling her parents by name or from disbelief she could not tell. He looked her up and down, reassessing her. She held back a sigh. “And after you followed him here, what happened?”

For a moment there was a spark of something approaching defiance in his eyes. “We followed him inside the magic barrier.”

Emma reached for her handcuffs and Sean’s building bravado melted away as he backpedaled right into one of the beanstalks. The plant started to yellow in an instant, wilting before her eyes. _Shit_ , she thought, but kept her game face on. “You picked an awful time to smart being a smartass, kid.” She grabbed his wrist and spun him around, pressing him into the dying beanstalk as she secured the cuffs.

He started talking the moment metal touched his wrist, forgetting how to take a breath between words. “Mr. French got excited when he saw the prince disappear, claimed it was proof they were working with the Evil Queen!”

Emma shook her head and pulled the former prince backward so he stood overbalanced backward, depending on her to keep him up. “She’s not the only one with magic, you know.” She started to frog march him not back to the others, but toward her bug.

“ _I_ know that.” He triad yanking at his wrists and planting his feet, but Emma had all the leverage. “But Mr. French ran out of the car after him. I _had_ to follow.”

“And you _had_ to get involved in a brawl,” Emma said. She slowed her pace enough that Sean would notice, encouraging him to continue.

“ _Yes!_ Mr. French was screaming at the prince and that big guy as soon as I crossed over. Going on and on about the plants.” He tried to look over his shoulder at her, but couldn’t manage the angle. “I don’t even know what these things are. Mr. French said something and then the prince threw a punch. Mr. French fought back, but then the _dwarves_ came out of _nowhere…_ ” He shook his head. “I couldn’t just stand there.”

Emma reversed their direction, not needing to hear the ending to know how the eight on two fight would have gone. She cursed internally but remained silent as they traipsed back toward the others. If David had thrown the first punch, it _complicated_ matters.

That it explained why he felt the need to call her in did not bode well for the rest of her day.

Nine sets of eyes tracked them as Emma pushed Sean down to sit at the edge of the garden. The only pair that did not shout guilt at her in some form or another were _Regina’s._ An irony that would have set her laughing most days.

“Regina,” she said while looking at each of the men in the clearing in turn. “Can you magic up some handcuffs?” She felt the energy build up and release, and chose her next target.

\---

_It’s amazing how much paperwork you have to file for bullshit_ , Emma groused to herself as she typed away at her computer. The machine was barely more than a glorified typewriter and the sheriff had to pause every few seconds for her words to appear on screen through the lag. It made a tedious job almost unbearable, testing her patience.

She put the finishing touches on her report, hit save a half dozen times because she did _not_ trust the damned machine, and leaned back in the hard backed chair that did little to offer any comfort.

Sean had been much more forthcoming than his partner. Moe had only confirmed that David was the first to attack before going on an aimless rant about how Emma’s entire family had been corrupted my magic and the Evil Queen, and how soon the whole town would see. Then he clammed up and kept silent.

David had not even tried to deny it. _He insulted Snow_ , was all he offered as an excuse. Which, _fine_ , Emma didn’t disagree that the man had probably deserved a blow to the head, but she thought he would know better than to act in anger.

She blew out a breath, grateful that the hint of having a record had Sean Herman convincing Moe not to press charges. Malicious destruction of property paled in comparison to battery, but apparently the specter of Mitchell Herman still had sway with the young man. Sean had a kid of his own, Emma knew, but that did not stop his father from treating him like a child.

That Moe had backed down at the mention of the man spoke volumes as well. She started to believe Regina’s theory that Herman was the royal bloc’s true ringleader.

A hand slapped against wood, drawing Emma back to the present. “Finally finished?” Mildly exasperated, Regina had sat in the corner of Emma’s office with her nose buried in her mother’s file. Technically speaking, Regina did not have the clearance to see the evidence, but that was a battle Emma did not see the worth in fighting. Plus, she had not expected the former mayor to stick around and felt gladdened that Regina had.

It was one less person to worry about.

“These wouldn’t take nearly as long if someone gave us more to spend than a few pennies and a bit of lint.”

“Sounds like a complaint that the mayor should deal with,” Regina said with a dismissive air and stood, her back arcing in a stretch as she let out a pleasant groan. “Should the elections ever actually _happen_ at this point.” Emma flicked her eyebrows with a tilt of her head, acknowledging the point. The debate had been postponed twice now, and rumors were starting to circulate alongside conspiracy theories.

She wondered how they would be fanned if Midas’ lot decided to reveal that there were magic beans growing in Storybrooke. Some people would clamor to return to the Enchanted Forest _immediately_ , and Emma knew there were those so vehemently against the idea that it could spark outrage among certain factions.

She clicked her tongue against her teeth and did not follow the thought down its path. It was a headache she could deal with later.

“We could always just appoint Henry as king and be done with it.” Emma joked, but Regina paused and seemed to consider it with a glint of cunning in her eye. “ _Regina_.” She admonished.

“It’s not the worst idea you’ve come up with,” the former queen said. “He’s got the Charming bloodline, and he was raised by the Evil Queen.” Regina caught Emma’s look and waved her off. “We’ll call it Plan B.”

“You know, I think it’s going to take \ a long time to get used to hearing things like that and considering it _normal_.” A smooth, feminine voice spoke from just outside Emma’s office and she schooled her features in a flash. She turned to find Tamara standing in her office door, the woman’s white teeth flashing in contrast to her dark skin.

She seemed ready to brave the chill with her hair was pulled back into a tail and the layers of flannel she wore beneath a leather jacket, with boots, jeans, and a ridiculously oversized scarf to complete the image. Neal stalked up beside her, garbed in the same way, and seemed to be getting his color back.

He had bounced back from death’s door quick.

“What can I do for you two?” Emma asked, an itch of discomfort blooming as her only exit lay blocked. She felt Regina move to just behind her shoulder.

“I wanted to ask if we could spend the afternoon with Henry. Take him on a hike and picnic. The whole nine. Bonding time.” He offered her a hesitant smile and Emma flicked a glance toward Tamara. Neal’s fiancé seemed as happy and chipper as she had since Emma had met her.

Something twisted in Emma’s gut. Mary Margaret had been quick to name it as jealousy, but Emma thought Tamara just set off _all_ of her bullshit alarms.

She just had no idea why.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Regina said in an even tone. Emma knew her well enough to detect the strain hiding beneath it. Regina’s jaw was set, but she wasn’t _quite_ glaring at the couple. Neal’s pleasant expression fell and he gained an air of something approaching desperation.

“ _Please_. I just want to spend time with my son.” His voice hitched toward the end, and Emma knew _him_ well enough to know he was being genuine. Tamara intertwined her hand with his, fingers laced.

“You are barely more than a stranger to him Mr. Cassidy. You don’t _get_ to call him your son.” Emma winced, and Neal’s walls skyrocketed back into place as his face went blank and his jaw set. Regina’s reaction to Emma coming into Henry’s life had been _harsh_ at the best of times, and had taken over a year before she had gained the woman’s trust.

Despite her bluntness, Regina’s denial of Neal was polite in comparison, but the man had no way of understanding that.

Nor did his fiancé. “So, I haven’t wrapped my head around all this ‘fairy tales are real’ crap, but I do know that they don’t change the facts.” Tamara took a half step to put herself between Neal and both Regina and Emma, her eyes narrowing. “It isn’t _Neal’s_ fault that Henry is a stranger to him.” She flicked her eyes toward Emma, and her dislike for Neal’s paramour increased tenfold.

“Babe…” Neal said quietly, pulling their joined hands backward.

“No, Neal. You tried being nice, but this is _bullshit_.” She spoke with vehemence, not even glancing back toward Neal. “He never chose to give Henry up,” Tamara said and turned her focus onto Emma. She knew the next words before they left the woman’s mouth. “You _did_. He has just as much right to spend time with Henry as you do. Maybe even _more_ of one.”

With her wide brown eyes, chin set at an angle of defiance, flushed cheeks, and willingness to defend someone she cared about with such passion, Emma could see what had drawn Neal to Tamara, and could almost respect the woman for it.

If she hadn’t been talking straight out of her ass.

“Look,” Emma said, noting her voice had dropped several octaves of its own accord. She sounded angry, dangerous. It matched the shadow her mood had fallen under and Emma liked the way it tasted rolling off her tongue. “I don’t know how much of our story he’s told you, and frankly I don’t care. Neal knows _exactly_ why I did what I did.”

“And what gave you the _right_ to make that choice?” She flicked her eyes over Emma, up and down. “What qualifies you to make this one? The “small town Sheriff” complex or the decade of abandonment guilt?” The words dug right under Emma’s skin and her hands tightened into fists. She could feel the power starting to _thrum_ toward them.

Using magic in anger seemed like a spectacular idea, at that moment. Long, warm, and firm fingers wrapped around her wrist and Emma felt a shock race right up the limb, followed by the numb absence of energy gathering there.

Regina pulled her back, trading their places and locking her “Pissed off Mayor” face onto Tamara. She must have been practicing, Emma mused, as Regina’s expression seemed more frightening than any Emma had seen when it was often aimed at her.

“Emma is _allowed_ because she has earned my trust.” The barest of smirks pulled at one side of Regina’s lips. Emma stood up straighter at the claim, a spark of happiness pushing away her dark mood. “Never forget that _I_ have the final say here, and I do not know you. You cannot fathom how far away I am from trusting you.”

Tamara did not back down under Regina’s gaze and looked ready to continue from where she’d left off until Neal gripped her by the shoulder and leaned in to mutter something to her that Emma couldn’t make out. Tamara sagged, nodded, turned to press a lingering kiss onto Neal, and left without another word.

“She can be a little intense,” Neal said the moment the front entrance echoed shut. Emma snorted.

“To put it mildly.” Neal cracked a grin, and some of the tension drained from the air.

“She means well,” he said, looking in the direction Tamara had gone. “She just…” He trailed off, shaking his head before turning to Regina. “I get it. I do” He took a breath, as if admitting it had placed a burden on him. “But I want the chance to prove myself to you. No matter what it takes.”

Regina stared at Neal, _hard_ , for a long moment before she frowned and glanced toward Emma. Put on the spot and without Tamara to goad her, Emma found herself shrugging. _Your call_ _Regina_. The woman’s frown deepened, but she didn’t outright reject Neal.

“We shall see, Mr. Cassidy.” The man’s face lit up like he had just been named father of the year.

“Thank you,” he said. His arm twitched as if her were going to offer a hand to Regina, but he thought better of it and made his retreat with a pair of hasty goodbyes, offering Emma a smile over his shoulder on his way out. She gave his back an incredulous look and shook her head, turning to give Regina her thanks, but the other woman spoke first.

“Jealousy does not become you, Miss Swan,” Regina said, her lips pressed into a thin line. _Wait, what?_ She verbalized the thought. Regina sent a pointed look after the couple.

“Of Tamara.” Emma could not keep the exasperation from her tone. With Mary Margaret the accusation had been mildly annoying. Having it come from Regina left Emma uncomfortable with a need to assuage the suspicion. “Really? That’s just...” She struggled to articulate it. “ _No_ ,” she said, emphatic.

“And you’ve been exceedingly hostile to her for no reason, then?” Emma blinked, speechless. _Exceedingly?_ Regina flicked an eyebrow, demanding an answer.

“How about that she’s been acting suspicious as hell since we’ve met her?” Tracking his phone’s GPS Emma could buy. The logic of checking the hospital before the police station was not an unrealistic stretch. But, “Neal didn’t mention her _once_ in New York,” she said. “Not to me. Not to Henry. Not to Gold.” She ticked off each name on a finger. “Even in passing. It should have come up.”

Regina hummed, noncommittal.

“And I’m sorry, but _nobody_ would take any of this as easily as she did. Finding out Disney’s actually a series of documentaries should be earth-shattering.” Emma shook her head. “She didn’t even _flinch_ , Regina.”

Regina tilted her head, face betraying nothing. “And your ongoing cordiality with Mr. Cassidy?” _At least she didn’t call it flirting_ , Emma thought. David had made that leap of logic after hearing part of her conversation with Mary Margaret and it had been… awkward.

“You didn’t see me in New York.” Emma licked her lips, finding them having gone dry. “I was surprised, scared, and _pissed_. Henry was there and saw everything. I…” _Dragged him through half of a strange city by the wrist at a dead sprint._ She swallowed churning shame. “Really scared him.” She hedged.

Regina’s focus had refined to a sharp point the moment Emma had mentioned Henry, and Emma knew she would have the argument won. “I realized I couldn’t be that person. I have every right to be mad. To hate him.” She saw a flicker of understanding spark in Regina’s dark eyes. “But I did that for a decade already.” She took a breath. Putting words to her resolve proved more trying than Emma had expected. “And, for Henry’s sake, I’ve been trying to let it go.”

“For Henry,” Regina echoed, doubtful.

Emma wore a rueful smile. “He’s our son Regina. Do you think us telling him no will _really_ keep him away from a parent he knows about?” The kid had crossed over the majority of two states on a bus before he had even met her. Emma did not doubt Henry’s ingenuity would let him go around them to get to know his father.

“Of course not,” Regina said, finally breaking her gaze away from Emma and collecting the paperwork she’d spent the last few hours studying. “I learned that lesson the hard way, Emma, but we can damn well make sure your ex knows exactly where he stands.” Emma could not see her face, but took the resumed use of her first name as a sign of Regina’s acceptance. Genuine relief softened the edges off the stress she held, and Emma rolled her shoulders, smiling.

“Speaking of Henry,” Emma said, clapping with an air of finality. “I’ve been putting it off with everything that’s been going on, but I promised the kid an ice cream extravaganza for his help in New York.” After saving her life, an obnoxious amount of dessert was definitely deserved. “Come with us?” Regina froze for a pair of breaths.

When she turned, she wore the tiniest of smiles and held an expression of amused incredulity in her eyes. “As tempting as that overindulgence sounds.” Regina bowed her head, thumb stroking over the folders in her hand. She looked back up, a softened look of determination set in her jaw. “But I think I have something.”

“Suspect?” Emma asked lightly. Emma assumed Regina suspected Rumplestiltskin as much as she did. There had been no physical evidence to point that way, but the timing of Neal’s recovery was far too coincidental. Emma simply did not know enough about magic to prove what had happened to Cora, and trying to do so had proven an awful exercise in frustration.

But Regina was light years beyond Emma in that regard. “Possibly,” Regina said, guarded and careful. They had both learned that going after the Dark One would require _absolute_ proof. Emma had half a mind to deputize the former mayor, just to cover their bases. “But I need to check a few things.”

“Alright.” Emma braced her hands against her knees and thrust herself to her feet. “But that extra scoop of Chunky Monkey I’ll have in your honor is going to kick my ass.”

Regina gave her a flat look. “Woe is you,” Regina said, deadpan. Emma flashed her a grin and headed out with a jaunty wave and an admonishing reminder to call her the moment she found something.

\---

Emma was three spoonfuls of ice cream deep when she got the call and was forced to abandon it in the name of duty, dragging Henry along with her for a lack of a better option. For the second time that day, Emma weaved between the sparse traffic while pushing her stubborn old bug to its limits.

Unlike his mother, Henry took to the crazy turns and aggressive momentum with bursts of laughter. Joy wrought from pure adrenaline. When she _yanked_ the bug to a stop behind a smattering of cars parked haphazardly in the street, her son wore a smile stretching from ear to ear.

“That was so wicked,” he said, breathless. Emma forced herself not to smile at his enthusiasm, keeping on a mask of grim professionalism.

“Never drive like that,” She said as she got out of the car. “And _stay there_.” She threaded her badge over her belt and did not look as Henry’s wide smile was replaced with a protesting frown. She locked him in, squared her shoulders, and dove head first into the second angry mob she would have to deal with.

Someone had broken the fairies’ veil and several dozen townspeople stood in an arc around the beanstalk garden. They shouted over each other, growing louder and more indecipherable by the second. Anton and the dwarves formed a protective arc around the plants, their pickaxes held ready in warning.

The giant’s voice managed to boom over the din. “Please, they’re not ready! If we lose any more of the shoots, they won’t be able to combine!” Emma filed the fact that the plants that were as tall as she was were only the _shoots_ away with all of the rest of the crap that should not have surprised her anymore.

“We deserve those beans just as much as anyone else!” One man near the front shouted to the cheers of the rest of the crowd. Emma broke through the back of the throng with several well timed shoves.

“They’re not _ready,_ ” Sneezy said, sniffling. “Not even close, don’t you get that?” More jeering from the crowd met his word.

“And who, my good dwarf, would be in charge of overseeing the distribution of these beans? How do we know that they are intended for everyone?” Emma sighed, recognizing the honey dipped tone of the would-be mayor. Sure enough, when she made it to the front of the group she spotted Midas standing apart from the rest, looking upon Anton and the dwarves as if they had been misbehaving children.

She took her cue. “That would be _me_ , MIdas.” She spoke clearly, with as much gravity and authority as she could without sounding melodramatic. The man scrambled to turn around, eyebrows dipping into a scowl. The people around her backed away with the speed of frightened cats.

“Sheriff,” the former banker greeted shortly. “May I ask what brings you here?” His eyes darted to the crowd of his own followers for the barest of moments.

“Noise complaint,” Emma said with a knowing smirk. The beanfield was about as ‘middle of nowhere’ that you could get in Storybrooke without taking a hike in the woods. Midas’ scowl deepened and Emma wondered if the man who tipped her off was in the crowd or not. She pushed it from her mind and moved to stand between the two sides, facing off with the portly man.

“Since you’re here.” Emma saw the gears turning in Midas’ mind, trying to turn the situation to his advantage. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain why you and yours kept such a wondrous chance of hope _away_ from the good people of Storybrooke? It is a disappointing irony coming from Snow White, but not entirely unexpected. Your collusion in this is troublesome, Sheriff.”

Emma could lose her balance with the amount of spin on that statement, but there were voices of agreement from behind him. She flicked an eyebrow, dismissing his claims, and spoke evenly.

“This entire process.” She waved an arm behind her. “Only had the _smallest_ chances of success.” She was grateful she’d demanded a full rundown of how the field came to be from her parents. “We had one _petrified_ seedling, and it was far from a guarantee it would work.” She took a moment to sweep her eyes over the gathered people, meeting gazes with several as she did so. “The plan was to make sure the damn things _worked_ before letting everyone know.

“Then we were going to make sure there was enough of a supply to let people travel between the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke as much as they wanted to.” That had been Henry’s solution to solve the split over which realm people should live in, and Emma had taken a shine to the idea.

She was convinced nobody would want to stay in the Enchanted Forest for long with the state it was in, and did not want to abandon people there with no way home.

“And how are we supposed to trust your word, Sheriff?” Midas hedged, sensing a losing battle as the angry atmosphere in the crowd started to dissipate.

Emma’s reputation had taken several blows in the recent blows, but she was still willing to bet this battle of wills on it. “When I have _ever_ not done what has been best for the town?” She asked the crowd at large. Moments passed with nobody speaking out against her. Hell, half of them look chastised.

When Midas held his eyes closed for a second too long and sighed, Emma knew she had won the night.

“Exactly. Alright people, get out of here and let these men get back to work in _peace_.” It took a few beats for the first person to retreat, but once one had the rest followed with little delay, shuffling away from the field as if a movie had just let out.

“This isn’t over, Sheriff.” A promise of challenge gleamed in the former king’s eyes. Emma shook her head.

She couldn’t wait for the election to be over.

“It is tonight, Midas. Go _home_.” She stared him down, but he puffed up his chest and strode past her, making sure his shoulder whacked hers as he did so. She held back a laugh when the stunt through him off balance instead of her.

Who said she couldn’t be graceful in victory?

A dull _thump_ drew her attention to the edge of the garden. Anton had sat down, leaning forward against the pickaxe that named him “Tiny.” The sheer relief on his face pulled her heartstrings.

To him this was much more than cultivating a way home. The entire project was his family’s only legacy.

The dwarves gathered around him in a protective circle, speaking to him in low voices Emma couldn’t make out.

“I’ll assign Ruby to stand watch with you guy starting tomorrow,” she told them, but received no indication that they had heard her. She sighed and left them to their moment, wandering back toward her car.

She wondered if the parlor would give her a discount if they headed straight back, or if…

Her train of thought went off the rails and terror froze her heart. “No,” she whispered. The bug was where she had left it, but the passenger side door sat wide open, its window broken.

And she couldn’t see her son.

“Henry!?” She sprinted the remaining distance to her car, finding nothing but shattered glass inside. “No no no no…” She felt panic threatening to overwhelm her, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She ran away from the car and back into the dispersing group. Most were only just climbing into their cars at this point, but as she shouted her son’s name and checked every car she passed, she came up empty.

“This can’t be happening, _please_.” She repeated the plea under her breath, but nobody came to reassure her it was an awful joke. People were looking at her in a mix of confusion and horrified sympathy as they caught onto the situation.                                                

Emma spun in a slow circle in the middle of road, eyes roaming over _everywhere_ , but caught no sign of her child.

“Henry…” She heard her voice break and felt horror so deep it threatened to drown her.

Her son was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who could have done this!? Poor young Henry is at the mercy of one of our villains, but was that the right call for the baddies to make? Nothing brings people together quite like Henry, especially when he's in danger.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter and the slow crawl that is the evolution of Regina and Emma's relationship. How are you liking the direction that's taking? Too slow burn? Too quick? Let me know!


	17. Regina V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing search, internalized guilt, and the blame game are abound.

Fear was an emotion Regina had believed herself to be well versed in throughout her life. It had driven her childhood from obeying her mother’s every whim to finding the courage within to rebel in small ways. Fueled her in her desire to master magic as it bred into anger, resentment, and hate. Rumplestiltskin had nurtured the toxic emotion within Regina as surely as Cora had, but she had never balked in all her time as Evil Queen. Fear became a tool. One she readily used in her never ending quest.

Her perception of the depth one could feel it had shattered in a single moment when she learned Henry had eaten the cursed turnover that had been meant for his birth mother.

That fear; _true_ fear; had been a feral thing. A lion locked in a cage, clawing at the walls in a desperate bid to escape. Full of rage and hollow despair, unable to _do_ anything. Paralyzed to inaction. Regina never wished to feel it again.

It was a weaker moment, she knew, but she wanted to _kill_ the one who brought that despair back to her. Her hands trembled, energy crackling beneath the surface but dying before it could manifest.

_He’s been taken._

Emma Swan stood on Regina’s porch, and she could see the match to her fright in Emma’s watery eyes that refused to shed tears. The savior’s magic flared in time with her frayed emotions, just shy of a visible aura surrounding the woman.

Regina coughed, realized she’d forgotten how to breathe, and took several steadying breaths. She pushed away the instinctive, reactionary thoughts of harming the messenger and stepped aside. The blonde strode into the mayoral mansion and made a beeline for the stairs, Regina hot on her heels.

She moved with confident steps into Henry’s bathroom, emerging moments later with Henry’s comb held in a white knuckled fist.

“We need a tracking spell,” she said, her voice hoarse with the promise of emotion.

“We need to get to the vault, then.” Regina ignored the presence of the same lilt in her tone.

\---

“We just have to do it again,” Regina said, refusing to believe the results her spell had given her. Across the low table, Emma sank to a stone stool with a soft _thud_. The air let out of her as her shoulders sagged, and Regina recognized the telltale signs. “Magic isn’t _foolproof_ , Emma,” Regina said.

Because if Emma Swan lost faith, Regina did not think she could muster enough for both of them.

The blonde watched through desperate eyes as Regina went through the motions for a fourth time. Mixing ingredients that would appear random to the unlearned, adding energy at the right points, muttering gibberish that guided the forces under her will. She released the spell and a strand of Henry’s hair lit up to a brilliant gold, raised several inches off the table, and promptly flickered out and fell victim to gravity.

Another failure.

Regina’s fists rammed into the stone table, the pain of it barely registering as she let out a _snarl_ of defiance.

Her son was not dead. He was _not_.

The silence stretching between them could circle Storybrooke twice over.

Emma’s breathing grew shakier, and Regina could read the thoughts behind her eyes. _My fault, my fault, my fault_. The guilt shined clear as day, and Regina could not offer her comfort. A niggling, darker corner of her mind agreed with the assessment and the former queen made an effort not to let it show. All the simmering anger in the world would offer no help to her now.

“We need a new plan,” Regina said, idly noting her voice had gone raw. Emma opened her mouth to speak, but a blaring ringtone sang from her pocket. The sheriff scrambled for it with all the grace of a drunken toddler.

“Tell me you have something, Rubes.” Regina held her breath, hearing the werewolf’s voice from the other end of the line, but unable to make out coherent words. She studied Emma instead, and for a brief moment the woman glowed with the hope and confidence one could expect from someone titled Savior, but it was snuffed out a moment later.

Ice grasped Regina’s heart in a vice.

“Alright, just.” She shook her head. “Just stay there. We’ll be right over.” Emma brought the phone down and Regina heard plastic protesting the sheriff’s white knuckled grip.

“Plan B?” Emma nodded.

“Ruby picked up a trail, but it ends at the town line.” Emma grimaced, raised her fist into the air as if she were about to throw her phone to the ground, but caught herself. She averted her gaze to the side and shoved the device into her pocket

Regina nodded, absorbing the new knowledge and trying to look at it objectively. Being over the town line would explain the inability for tracking magic to function, and suggested that whoever had taken Henry had known such.

And it cut the pool of possible suspects to the handful who could cross the town line without repercussion.

Herself, Emma, Gold, the missing Captain Hook, Emma’s ex, his fiancé, and…

Regina blinked, a cold sense of being correct struck her.

“We need to get there,” Emma said, but Regina was already digging through her inner coat pockets. “Pick up a trail the old fashioned way. Regina?”

Emma was already halfway toward the hall when Regina pulled out the coin and repeated the tracking spell on the small disc of metal. The spell played out the same as with Henry’s hair. As far as the magic was concerned, the SD card Regina had paired the coin with did not exist.

Which meant it was over the town line. Which could very well be a coincidence, _but…_

Regina’s instincts shouted that she was right.

“Magic’s not working Regina,” Emma said with no small amount of regret bleeding through her voice. “We need to get to the line.” Regina brought herself back to the present and followed the blonde out to the yellow bug. She slid into the passenger seat and tried not to remember that Henry had been sitting there less than an hour before.

Glass crunched beneath her feet and freezing wind whipped at her through the shattered window, making it impossible to do so.

She wracked her brain as Emma weaved through Storybrooke. The blonde’s hectic pace bringing comfort rather than terror now that it matched the urgency Regina felt to her very core. She knew that David had never officially processed the man into the system, but there had to be _some_ way of finding some information about him. He had to have interacted with _someone_ other than her and the deputy.

A thought struck her and she brought her phone to her ear. It rang twice before an aged, harried voice answered. “Granny’s.”

“I need information,” Regina said without preamble. “A man may have stayed with you recently named Greg Mendel. I need to know any details he left with you.”

Granny let out a sound that may have been a snort. “I don’t make a habit of invading my guest’s privacy, your _majesty_.” The contempt slithered through the receiver and Regina’s lip curled in distaste.

“He may have taken Henry,” she said rather than rise to the old woman’s bait. She might not ever change people’s mind about her, but her son was well loved. Granny was a hard woman to read, but her gruff voice gained a soft edge when she spoke again.

“Ruby said something happened when she ran out of here, hang on.” She could hear the woman shuffling around and felt Emma glance her way every few seconds. Regina kept her eyes closed and head lowered, praying that Granny would have something. “Let’s see, address out in Portland. Generic email address, ah! He left a cell number.” Regina’s eyes snapped open and she pulled a pen out of her pocket, writing on her hand for lack of better option.

“Thank you,” Regina said after the old woman rattled off the ten digits. “I won’t forget this.”

“Didn’t do it for you,” Granny said and the line clicked dead. Regina took no offense, pulled the phone off her ear and stared at the numbers stenciled on her palm. It was a weak lead, but it was _something_.

“Regina?” Emma questioned as she took another sharp turn.

“Tell me you have a way to track cell phones.” Regina heart sunk as Emma straight laughed at the prospect.

“I barely have a computer that runs on paperclips and hope.” Emma reminded her with a bitter hint of regret. Regina let out a breath.

“Just get us to the line.”

\---

An eclectic group waited for them at the edge of town as Emma pulled up behind another pair of cars.

Snow White sat on the hood of David’s patrol car, her face set in a mask of calm determination that Regina recognized from the war. Nothing but serenity rolled off the woman, which did little to calm her husband. Charming stood just in front of his wife, arms crossed, and _glared_ at the town line. He bounced on the balls of his feet and every one of his muscles strained, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Emma’s ex stood off to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets and expression locked into a stoic neutrality. If not for the prominent jut of his jawbone against his cheek as he clenched his teeth, Regina would have assumed him emotionless. His fiancé loitered over his shoulder, fidgeting with his jacket and her own. Regina found little evidence of the hardline poise the woman had shown earlier in her nervous motions.

Inches from the town line, Ruby _paced_. Her boots echoed off the pavement as she moved back and forth, a sound stuck halfway between a growl and a whine flowing from her throat in a low rumble. “The trail is right _here_ ,” she said once she spotted them. She gestured to a point over the line. She dropped her hand, muscles going slack as she bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” she said mostly to Emma, but glanced to Regina with genuine regret as well.

“Did you have your wolf senses during the curse?” Regina asked, struck by a thought. Ruby blinked at the question that had to seem out of left field, considered, and shrugged.

“I don’t remember.” She frowned. “I never noticed it, but I never _looked_ for it either.” She shook her head, focusing back on the present. “Why does it matter?” Regina called it Plan C and looked toward Rumplestiltskin’s son.

“Baelfire.” Using his given name struck the man from his melancholy introspection and he snapped a look her way. “Call your father, get him here.” She ensured her tone brooked no arguments. He looked as if he might object nonetheless. “Have him bring his potion for crossing the line.” She eyed Ruby once more. “And we’ll hope that you can still follow your nose over the line.”

The werewolf’s jaw set in pure determination and she nodded.

“Are you sure that will work?” Emma asked in a low voice. Snow and Charming still caught it and looked to her with guarded hope as well.

Truly Regina did not know. If the changes to the woman’s senses were physical as well as magical, there was a chance they could be maintained outside Storybrooke’s magic bubble, but even that was a longshot.

“I hope so.” She repeated, and pulled her phone. She punched the numbers under Emma’s questioning gaze and, as the phone rang, Regina wondered if she wanted her suspicions to be proven or not.

“Who are you--?” Emma started to ask but Regina held up a hand as the line picked up.

“Madame Mayor!” The voice of Greg Mendell greeted her, cheerful and sounding winded. Regina’s stomach dropped. If he already knew she was calling before she had a chance to speak, she doubted it would bode well. “I’m impressed. I expected you to figure it out, but nowhere near this quickly.”

“Where is my son?” Six pairs of eyes locked onto her, questioning. Regina put the phone on speaker and gestured for quiet.

“With me of course,” Greg said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Say hello to your _dear_ mother, Henry.” A muffled shout answered the man and every one of Regina’s maternal instincts roared at her to take action. She clenched her jaw against the rage threatening to spill forth.

“The boy’s not much of a hiker,” Greg said with a hint of condescension. “You should have taken him camping once or twice.”

“If you harm one hair on his head, I swear to every god that can hear me that I will _end_ you.” Emma spoke so low and with such _hate_ that Regina had not thought the blonde capable of.

It chilled her even as the instinctive part of her rallied to her cause.

“Sheriff? Good, I won’t need to repeat myself.” Greg did not even falter. “I wanted to press the point of how little power you hold right now, Madame Mayor, but I suppose the sheriff can use a reality check too.”

The unmistakable sound of a firearm’s safety clicking off sounded over the line and Regina was introduced to another new level of fear she would never have imagined.

“It would be _nothing_ for me to shoot him now. Bury him here, little better than a beast.” She heard Henry’s struggles renew with vigor, and Regina did not hesitate.

“ _Please_ ,” she said, closing her eyes but unashamed at the desperation she conveyed. “What do you _want_?”

“The truth,” Greg said. A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment before the click of the gun’s safety turning back on sounded. “Henry won’t come to harm quite yet, but I should warn you that he’ll be sharing space with our mutual friend, Captain Hook.” Regina’s brows flicked up in surprise.

How had Hook ended up in Mendell’s clutches, of all places?

“And you know what they say about pirates. I’ll be in touch.” The line clicked dead. Emma stared at the phone with an intensity that Regina felt surprised the device had not caught flame. She reached out a hand to squeeze the other woman’s shoulder, snapping her out of her headspace. She couldn’t offer Emma a reassuring smile, but they shared grim look of understanding and the sheriff visibly gathered her wits.

“Get your father,” Regina spoke the order at a whisper, but her voice carried on the quiet wind. Neal already had his phone to his ear, his free hand running circles on his fiancée’s back. The woman stared into the middle distance, seemingly unsettled. Regina held back a tick of irritation at the site and made a concerted effort not to make _more_ enemies.

“Papa…” Regina sighed and leaned back on the sheriff’s car, hating that they were forced into the waiting game. She felt the weight of someone’s stare and found herself locking eyes with Snow White while her husband spoke to Emma. The former princess’ brows were furrowed as if she were solving a troublesome riddle.

Regina chose to ignore that as well, and waited for Rumplestiltskin to come running to his son’s distress call.

\---

“It’s… harder,” Ruby said, actively sniffing the air rather than relying on her passive abilities. “But I think I can follow the trail.”

A surge of vicious hope urged Regina to move. “We can’t waste time then,” Emma said, on the same wavelength as Regina. Ruby gave an emphatic nod, clutched her crimson hood in a white knuckled grip, and set off at a steady pace.

“Good luck,” Rumplestiltskin spoke from behind the town line, sounding as genuine as the man ever did. Regina paid him little mind, her issues with the Dark One firmly placed on the back burner.

“Be _careful_.” Snow added, and Charming echoed her sentiment. Neither held the artifact dearest to them, and Regina had refused to wait longer than necessary to set off. Mendell already had several hours of a head start and had still been moving during their call.

The quintet did not stay on the road long. Less than a mile away from Storybrooke they came across a car pulled off the side of the road, and Ruby led them into the woods. Unlike those surrounding her town, there were no paths through the trees and the group’s progress faltered as they had to fight through underbrush the entire way.

It was a grueling, exhaustive process, and they lacked all the tools to make it easier, but Regina pushed forward with a sense of singular purpose she had never known before.

Emma matched her stride for stride and dragged, pushed, or encouraged any of the others that began to lag.

They were rewarded every so often by a broken branch or a discarded piece of outerwear. Regina could not make out most of the trail, but the clear signs of Henry actively leaving a series of breadcrumbs built a well of hope within her.

The sun had long since set when they came to a stop. At the apex of a small hill, Greg Mendell leaned against a waist-high boulder, fingers idly tracing over his gun. The portable lantern set on the rock illuminated little more than his face, and caught the white of his teeth as he grinned.

Regina’s heart sank. He had been expecting them. _Waiting_ for them.

_How?_

She did not have time to contemplate it before she found herself staring down the blackened barrel of his weapon. Emma moved in a flash, bringing her own weapon to bear, aiming at the man’s center mass.

“I would think twice about that sheriff,” Greg said without taking his eyes off Regina. “Isn’t that right, Captain?”

“Aye.” The unenthusiastic voice of Captain Hook filtered over a phone Regina only just noticed resting next to the lantern. “The boy’s life depends on your cooperation Swan. I suggest you listen to the man.” The man’s speech lacked the pirate’s typical swagger, reminding Regina of a man reading scripted lines.

“Where is he?” Neal moved up to Regina’s side, glaring down at Mendell.

“Not here.” He swept a quick glance around and swallowed, realizing his odds. He could get a shot off on Regina, but the others would close on him before he could fire another.

Regina did not relish the idea of taking a bullet. Not before knowing Henry was safe.

“Here’s how this works.” Mendell squared his shoulders and nodded behind him toward his right. Regina could make out a rough path carved through the brush if she squinted. “You four follow your werewolf to Henry and the good captain will hand him over peaceably. Only catch is you leave the Evil Queen with me.”

Both Ruby and Emma sucked in sharp breaths and Regina could not contain her surprise either. The man knew far too much. More than anyone in this world had a _right_ to know.

“Who _are_ you?” Regina asked at the same moment Emma said, “Not going to happen.”

Mendell wore a wicked grin. “Plan B is I shoot her royal majesty in the face, and Captain Hook introduces poor Henry whole new world of pain before he’ll join his mother.”

“You _can’t_.” Tamara surprised Regina by speaking up, looking both shocked and affronted.

“I _can_ ,” Mendell snapped back without glancing toward the woman. “Do not test me.” Regina looked the man dead in the eye and recognized the quiet desperation of a man pushed to the breaking point.

She took a silent, steadying breath, and wished she could understand the man enough to turn the situation around. As it stood…

“Go,” she said and became the center of attention once again as her four compatriots stared at her in various shades of incredulity.

“Regina.” Emma said her name in a strained, desperate sort of way that sent a chill down Regina’s spine. It offered her objection, looked for assurance that Regina knew what she was doing, and expressed a guilt around the edges. Doubtlessly the blonde would blame herself for the turn of events, and while Regina could not deny the sheriff did deserve a portion of it, she held her tongue.

It didn’t feel right to say it.

“Go.” She repeated.

“And what’s to stop him from pulling the trigger as soon as we’re all away?” Ruby glared a Greg, who only shrugged.

“Nothing,” he offered with a smile.

“Neal,” Emma said, still staring down Regina as if she hoped to break her resolve. “Stay here until we get to Henry.”

“Emma, I—“

“I don’t—“

Emma didn’t let either Greg or Neal finish. “And then we’ll do the trade.” She stood emphatic, and Mendell did not object further, keeping his head on a swivel as Ruby, Tamara, and a reluctant Emma moved down the opposite side of the hill back into the bush.

“If you try anything and Henry gets hurt,” Neal said to the man as the others moved away, drawing himself to his full height. “I will kill you.” He did not boast or threaten, but said it as a simple point of fact. Greg shrugged one shoulder.

“I’m good on my word, which is better than either of you can claim.”

“You don’t know me,” Neal said, not arguing the point on how Mendell seemed to know _her_.

“Baelfire,” Mendell said with a hint of haughty dismissal as Neal flinched at the moniker. “Son of Rumplestiltskin, son of a man who became disillusioned to the world.” His lip curled. “Your entire line is nothing but waste after waste. The same story told again and again.” Disconcerting thoughts of what Rumple’s _father_ could be like aside, Regina took insult with the implication that her son could be compared to these men.

“I am _not_ my father.” Neal had paled after Greg’s nonchalant answer, but his fists still clenched at his sides. Quick to anger when his father was involved, Regina had surmised and found it ironic how similar Rumple could react to a word against his son.

“You’re well informed,” Regina said, trying to adopt an expression that was not angry or a glare. It proved difficult.

“Have to be.” Greg took the lead in. “When assholes like you get to make the rules, the only real defense we can have is knowledge.”

Her nostrils flared at the insult, but there was a smugness in his tone that Regina honed in on. “Impressive that you’re able to gather intelligence between realms.” The only explanation Regina could reason was that there had to be some source of magical potential somewhere in this world, or another realm was crossing planes into the Land Without Magic, which should have been impossible…

Greg’s eyebrows flicked n amusement and Regina knew she’d lost him. “Do you think I’m that stupid?” Regina made a noncommittal gesture and Greg’s hand began to tremble. “You b—“

“They’re here.” Hook’s deadpan voice cut off his current ally.

“Get that thing _away_ from my son!” Emma’s shout quickly followed alongside a growl of agreement from Ruby.

“Not my choice, love,” Hook replied and Regina could picture the careless shrug. Her teeth grinded together.

“Hey hey hey!” Mendell yelled, cutting off all protests before they could approach coherency. “Here is how this is going to work,” he said, hand steadying and a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. Regina’s instincts flared. “Tamara, take him.” Scuffling sounds came over the line and Regina’s heart froze.

“Wait, what?” Neal hesitated for a split moment and it was enough for Greg to flick his weapon to the left and pull the trigger. A soft _puff_ of air sounded rather than the _bang_ of a bullet, and Neal’s hand flew to his neck even as he fell to his knees.

Regina shook off her own stupor and sprinted toward the man, but he recovered quickly and trained his weapon on her and fired just as she managed to drive a shoulder into his abdomen. A burning pinprick of stinging pain flared from her shoulder as she rolled to the ground.

She found she could not gather the strength to push herself off her back and blackness crept at the edges of her vision.

Mendell appeared above her, face covered in scrapes and scratches from the underbrush. She imagined she looked much the same, but felt none of it.

“Rest well, your highness.” His smirk sickened her. “We’ve got a long night ahead.” The world went topsy-turvy as he picked her up in a fireman’s carry, and whatever poison he had shot her with took its toll as the darkness won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter this time, I'm afraid, but it sets us up for the continuing climax of the shortish Greg/Tamara arc. Next up will be a Henry chapter that I've been looking forward to writing, so it should be fun.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought in a comment/review!


	18. Henry III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With little chance of outside help, Henry has to use nothing but his own skills to try and escape a terrible situation.

He woke to his mother’s screams.

Adrenaline surged through his veins and Henry tried to leap from sleep into action, but only accomplished burning himself as he strained against the tightly wound rope that bound his hands behind his back and lashed his ankles together. He hissed in pain and let his body go limp when it was clear he wouldn’t be escaping. Still jittery, he turned his head to and fro in an attempt to figure out where the heck he was.

His shoulders cried out with pins and needles as he rolled himself over, and Henry found that he was in an alcove of some sort. Three blank walls the color of ash surrounded him, but there was nothing blocking his path to a hallway that turned off to the right except for the ropes that burned his skin.

His mother’s pained shouts echoed down the pathway again and fear gripped Henry’s heart in its chilled grip so cold it burned. He redoubled his efforts to escape, grunting to ignore how much it hurt.

“You’re just going to hurt yourself lad, I tied those myself.” Henry’s heart leapt to his throat as he instinctively rolled himself away from the new voice. Captain Hook had been sitting behind him, huddled in the back corner of the nook. He looked worse than when Henry had seen him in the hospital. His hair lay limp on his head, matted, and he seemed sunken in to himself.

With his dull eyes and skin the same color as the walls, Hook seemed sick and Henry wondered how such a scary man could look so… _not_.

He tried to pull free once more, only stopping when a trickle of warm, sticky liquid started running down his hands. Hook watched him through indifferent eyes.

Another bout of his mother’s tortured cries sounded, her voice going so high it cracked. Tears sprang to the corner of Henry’s eyes, born of frustration and a fear so deep he had never felt anything of its like before.

“I’m surprised she’s lasted this long. Strong woman, the queen,” Hook said, eyes going glassy.

“I have to help her.” His voice wavered and he hated it. Henry slammed his eyes shut to try to bottle his emotions and _think_ of a way out of this.

“You’re not getting free,” Hook said matter-of-factly.

“Why are you just letting this happen?” Henry asked, baring his teeth as some of his fears bled into anger. “How does this help you?”

Hook let out a rueful chuckle. “It really doesn’t.”

“Then untie me!”

“I _can’t_ , lad.” Hook edged further into his corner, eyes drifting shut. “I have my _orders_. But don’t worry, we’ll all be dead soon…” Hook’s breathing evened out into sleep as Henry realized what happened.

They had Hook’s heart, somehow.

Henry wondered if his ominous warning had come from him or the people who controlled him.

He pushed the man from his mind and his thoughts whirled to form a plan of action. _What would Emma do?_ The answer came to him in an instant and Henry folded in on himself and lunged himself forward. The motion gained him a few inches, and he repeated it, caterpillaring himself along the ground. Emma would do everything she could to save the day, and Henry knew that a hero did not always need to fight to save the day.

The hallway twisted, turned, and each wall seemed to have at least one door leading off to who knew where, but Henry kept his path by following the worst sound he had ever heard. It felt like hours later that he found the hallway letting out to a small room covered in spare boating supplies. Ropes, chains, nettings, and wood covered the floor and walls, but Henry focused in on his mother strapped to what looked like a dentist’s chair.

Two pairs of wires dangled off of her and Henry traced their path to a metal rod lying next to a giant battery he knew was meant for use in a car. Jumper cables ran off the battery, and Greg Mendell stood by the setup, making it rain sparks as he touched the other end of the cables together.

“Now I think you’ll answer some questions,” he said, touching one of the two clamps to the metal rod. “Almost thirty years ago, a man disappeared from Storybrooke without a trace. Where is he?”

“I have no idea who you are talking about.” Henry gulped. His mom’s voice was hoarse like she had been in a yelling match, only ten times as bad. A shadow crossed over Greg’s eyes.

“Wrong answer,” he said and pressed the other jumper cable’s clamp to the rod. His mother’s scream was instantaneous and Henry’s shouted protest joined less than a second later.

“Stop!” Tamara was there, pushing Greg out of the way and cutting the circuit’s connection. The screams cut off into whining grunts and Henry felt a brief flare of hope. Maybe he had misunderstood what happened earlier and his dad’s fiancé was actually on their side?

“What the hell Tamara?” Greg held his hands up to the woman, body trembling and _fury_ lighting his eyes. “I _need_ these answers.” Tamara held up a hand to calm the man and pointed to Henry. The way the torturer smiled when he realized Henry was there twisted something in the boy’s stomach that made him want to _run_.

“Stubborn brat,” Greg said, nodding. “I can respect that.” He glanced to Tamara. “Stand him up.” Tamara looked at the man as if he’d grown an extra pair of heads.

“We’re not hurting the _kid,”_ she said, incredulous.

His stare was chilling. “Only if we have to.” Muffled protest came from the chair and Henry could see his mother straining against her restraints.

“We _can’t_ ,” Tamara said again, grabbing Greg by the shoulders. The man rolled his eyes, whispered in her ear, and Henry’s hopes were dashed as Tamara relaxed, nodding.

Henry hid a gulp, found his courage, and spoke as Tamara strode across the room. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, cursing in his head as his voice broke again. _Why_ did that keep happening at the worst times? “We can talk this out.”

Tamara grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. With his ankles locked together Henry could not balance on his own and was forced to lean back on Tamara to stay on his feet, but he was able to actually see his mother.

And wished he hadn’t.

He had never seen the women so disheveled before. Scrapes and small cuts were scattered over her face and arms, and Henry had a sick feeling at the sight of a bruise darkening on her neck. Her suit jacket was gone and her shirt was ripped open far enough for two of the wires to be attached to her collarbones by the same nodes the hospital had used on his father. The second pair were stuck to her forehead, and Henry noticed her hair stood at the roots like she was touching a static electricity ball.

“Henry.” She spoke his name slowly, as if forming the sound was hard for her. She looked _scared_. Far more than he had ever seen her before, and he had to fight a sudden panic from rising in his chest. He tried to smile to reassure her that he would figure something out, but the expression felt weird on his lips.

Henry let it fall into a grimace and faced Greg. “What do you want?” Villains always loved to explain their motivations, and Henry hoped it stayed true with their captor.

“Her.” He jerked a thumb to the former queen. “Dead.” Henry’s hopes took a blow at the succinct summary.

“Let him go, or I swear to—” His mother’s words were cut off with another scream as Greg put the cables to the conductor without mercy.

“STOP IT!” Henry shouted at the top of his lungs, struggling against both the ropes and Tamara’s grip. “Please!” Greg just smiled and kept the current going for ten more seconds.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Greg said as he removed the clamps and dropped them on the table with a metallic thunk.

His mother groaned, muscles twitching, and she kept her eyes away from him. A stench of burned _something_ filled the air and it was all Henry could do not to throw up. He tried to speak and gagged.

“Regina,” Greg leaned over her and spoke in a whisper that carried in the quiet room. “I’m going to make your son watch as I break you. Piece by piece. Until nothing of the proud queen remains and your true self is laid bare for him to see. Nothing but selfish cowardice. What do you think?” Henry wanted to say something in his mother’s defense, but the way she flinched at the man’s words tied his tongue.

He had never seen her without her looking like she could take on the world and win. If she couldn’t be strong, how could _he_?

Greg seemed content to wait for a reply and it took a long minute before the former queen gathered herself to muster a glare at her captor.

“If you think—” Greg sprang into motion the second Henry’s mother spoke, and started the electricity again, laughing as he did so.

Henry never realized how deeply he could hate someone. He yelled himself hoarse begging the man to stop, but Greg kept going without even glancing his way.

“Kurt Flynn!” Greg would yell in the small moments he broke the current. “Where is he?” Henry’s mother would bite out a strained response that she did not know, and Greg would start over. Each cycle her voice would grow weaker and Henry would fight harder to be free, but the situation seemed impossible to escape for both of them.

Henry grew desperate enough to even try _magic_ from what he had picked up from listening in on Emma’s lessons, but he felt nothing. No mystical power that could save them from this situation.

“Stop! Please, just stop.” His mother’s voice broke in a new way that took Henry’s heart right along with it.

“Kurt Flynn.” Greg repeated the name. “Is he alive?”

“No.” Everything in the room froze at his mother’s answer, and Greg’s hands started to tremble. For a second it looked like Greg was going to shove the jumper cables directly against his captive and Henry’s heart jumped to his throat.

Instead he spoke in a voice so low Henry barely heard it. “Did you kill him?” She whispered something that Henry couldn’t make out and Greg dropped his torture tools and _ran_ out of the room. The implication hit Henry and the wind left his sails. _Oh._

He knew she had done really bad things back in the Enchanted Forest, but he had believed that the worst of it had not followed her to Earth. If she had _killed_ someone in Storybrooke...

He shook his head and fought off a sudden sick feeling in his stomach. Even if she had, it was a long time ago. She wasn’t that person anymore. She had changed.

He looked up to see his mother looking at him through a haze of pain and she looked so _defeated_. Henry grimaced and couldn’t completely banish the knowledge that she had killed while here in Storybrooke. She must have seen something in his expression as tears welled up in her eyes and she turned to look away from him.

Shame joined everything else going on in Henry’s head.

“Tamara,” he said, ignoring everything from how much his throat hurt to how much his heart did as well. The woman did not respond and Henry looked up to find she had a faraway, glassy look in her eye. He repeated her name and pushed his shoulder further into her belly to grab her attention. She blinked and looked down at him, surprised.

“My dad says you’ve been together for almost a year.” Whatever she was doing with Greg, Henry had to believe his dad wouldn’t fall in love with someone who wasn’t at least a _little_ good. “You can help us.”

She smiled, but it was sad. “Oh kid. You’ve got a lot to learn about the world.” She looked to his mother for a long moment. “But you don’t need to see this. Come on.” Tamara’s grip shifted and she dragged him back the way he came despite his protests.

“I’m sorry, Henry,” his mother’s weak voice called after them. “But remember I—” Tamara turned them around a corner and Henry could no longer make out what his mom was saying. He felt his hopes evaporate with every step the woman took. His only consolation was she placed him down gently rather than just dropping him when they returned to the alcove.

“Stay here and just don’t try to do anything else,” she said, and left him with nothing but the sickly pirate for company once more. Henry pressed his head into the rough wooden floor and tried to _think_.

“Did they kill her?” Hook asked, startling Henry. “The queen?” He contorted himself so he could glare at the man, but if he didn’t know any better Henry would have sworn the pirate had a look of genuine concern.

But this man tried to kill his grandfather, and almost killed his dad in the process.

“Why do you care?” He did _not_ flinch as his voice cracked this time. The man let out a small laugh and winced.

“Never knew my mother,” he said. “But I wasn’t much younger than you when I lost my father. It’s… not an easy thing, lad.” Henry just stared at Hook, hard, until the man fidgeted in place. “Can’t a dying man be sentimental?”

“She’s alive.” Henry said, rolling over and trying to see if he missed something that could get him untied.

“Oh? I thought,” Hook trailed off. “From the screams.” He shook his head. “Impudent woman, your mother.” Henry levied another glare the man’s way. The pirate held up his hands in mock surrender and Henry blinked as he realized Hook _had his hook_.

“What _exactly_ were your orders?” Henry’s mind churned with hesitant optimism. Hook raised a curious eyebrow, but answered.

“Do not move from this spot, do not free the boy, kill the queen if she tries to free her son.” He sighed. “So I am a dead man in any scenario here.” Henry smirked as a loophole immediately.

“Especially because the only thing you’d be able to do to defend yourself is _throw your hook_.”

The captain chuckled. “I suppose your right.” He closed his eyes and leaned back as if to nap, and Henry just stared at the man, incredulous.

“Hook.” Henry tried to imitate Emma’s ‘sheriff-tone,’ to sound as commanding as possible. The pirate blinked back to awareness. “You would have to _throw your hook_.” The captain furrowed his brow and Henry let out a grunt of irritation, scooting himself forward.

“What are you doing, lad?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Henry said without a hint of humor. He tried not to picture how ridiculous that sounded when his hands were literally tied behind his back. “Unless you do something to _defend yourself_.” Hook blinked, and reached for his weapon. It disconnected from the anchor on his wrist with an audible _click_ , and he lobbed it at Henry.

It landed five feet to the right.

“Oh no,” Henry said, deadpan. “My dastardly murder plan has been foiled.” He redirected his scuttling toward the weapon while Hook defended himself.

“I have impeccable aim, lad.” Hook grouched. “But I was just _shot_ not that long ago. Even the best take time to heal.”

“Right,” Henry agreed, not entirely caring about the man’s pride. He managed to grab the hook while on his side and finagle it to pick at the ropes. It was awkward, but Henry moved as quickly as he could.

“Careful lad. It may still be poisoned.” Henry froze, spared Hook an annoyed glare that set the pirate to looking away, and continued to work the ropes at a safer pace.

“Where do they keep your heart?” Henry asked as his bindings started to fray. “I can get it back to you.” It would only be fair, Henry believed.

“In one of the other rooms, I’m sure.” Hook shrugged. “I hear a door open every time one of them has new requests of me.”

“Hopefully not locked.” Henry cut through the last of the ropes and whipped his hands around to his front, overjoyed at the simple freedom to _move_ them again. With a determined grin Henry set to work on the ropes around his ankles and ignored the pins and needles that raked across his hands. The ropes fell away in seconds.

“Don’t you leave me here lad,” Hook said as Henry hopped from foot to foot to get feeling back. There was a desperation around Hook and Henry had the realization that the man’s fate lied solely in his hands.

“Of course not,” he assured the pirate. He considered the hook he held. “I may need this though, be right back.” Hook spoke an objection as Henry crept out into the hallway.

He tried every door in the path, finding most leading to barren storage room

But the one just around the corner from the main room was locked. Henry frowned, tried to force it with just his hand, but the handle only jiggled and didn’t give way. With a quiet sigh, he leaned around the corner and found Tamara sitting at the top of the stairs that Henry believed led to the outside. He shifted his gaze to check on his mother, and found her staring right at him.

He jumped despite himself.

He offered her a small smile, ignoring the weird twist of disappointment in his gut. He could deal with that later. She gave the tiniest shake of her head in warning, but Henry had already made the call. He mouthed “I’ve got this,” and retreated back toward the door. He grasped Hook’s hook in both hands, raised it over his head, and hoped he was fast enough to find and grab the heart before Tamara reacted.

Worse comes to worst she didn’t seem to _want_ to hurt him, so he could use that.

Maybe.

He shook his head and slammed the rounded edge of the hook down with all his might at the point where the doorknob met the door itself. The _clang_ of metal slamming into a metal sounded louder than a giant bell, but doorknob crashed to the ground and Henry pushed into the room.

The small space was cluttered with the same refuse that littered the main room, but Henry honed in on a black pouch laying on a coil of rope. A faint red glow made it through the fabric and He grabbed it just as heavy footfalls caught up to him.

“Henry!”

“How the hell did you get free?” He heard a metallic click and turned around with a growing sense of dread. Tamara stood at the end of the hallway, feet shoulder width apart and gun poised and aimed at his heart. Henry gulped.

 _Um. Help?_ He thought _toward_ the heart, and hoped Emma’s story was reliable. He darted into the small storage space, forcing Tamara to reposition herself in the doorway – her back to the hall.

“There’s nowhere to go Henry.” He noted a small tremble in the woman’s voice, but her grip on the gun did not waver. “Just drop the heart and I won’t be forced to hurt you.”

“Don’t you touch him!” His mother shouted through her broken voice. Henry thought he heard her struggling against his restraints.

“You won’t hurt me,” Henry said, trying to sound sure. Tamara grimaced and slowly shook her head with a grave sense of sadness.

“Don’t make me do this.” Henry took a step back, understanding that just because Tamara did not _want_ to hurt him, didn’t mean she _wouldn’t_.

He was saved from having to make a choice as a handless arm snaked around Tamara’s throat and _yanked_ back. The gun went off, and Henry thought he was hit for one heart-stopping moment before he realized nothing hurt.

Sheetrock dust rained down from where the bullet had gone through the ceiling right above his head.

He shivered.

“The hook, lad!” Hook and Tamara had tumbled to the ground, the woman trying to bring her gun around to aim at Hook and the pirate keeping a desperate grip on his opponent’s neck. Henry ran over to the grappling pair, reared the hook back, and slammed it into the woman’s weapon. It went skittering away, but went off as it hit the ground.

Glass shattered somewhere in the building and Henry paled as he realized he could have just accidentally shot someone.

A leg caught him in the back of the knees and sent him tumbling to the ground, the hook flying from his loosened grasp, but he managed to keep ahold of the heart. Hook cursed and Tamara gasped, choking on fresh air. Henry scrambled away from the pair and got back on his feet in time to dodge the two as they rolled along the ground in a grapple, neither looking like they were winning.

Henry judged his choices and hopped over the two, sprinting toward his mother at top speed. Her struggled against the restraints stopped when she spotted him rounding the corner and relief washed over her face so heavily that Henry felt it fall square on his shoulders.

“You’re okay.” She fell back to rest her weight back on the chair, eyes closing. He started working on the straps that held her wrists tied. They came undone easily enough, but Henry felt a fresh sick feeling at the dark purple and bloody mess his mom’s wrists and ankles had become.

“Come on.” He helped her to her feet but she collapsed her entire weight onto him the moment he had her standing. He barely kept them both upright.

“Damn it.” She grinded out the curse through gritted teeth. She braced an arm back on the chair and tried again, but a muscle in her arm twitched and it gave way as well. She plopped back onto the chair and hung her head.

“Are you okay?” He asked. He shuffled from foot to foot, unsure how to help. He had no idea what that much electricity would do to a body.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice shaky. Her breaths came even shakier. Henry’s heart sped up, knowing they needed a hospital, _now_.

“Get away from the queen, Henry.” He spun around to stare down the barrel of Tamara’s gun. She stood at the edge of the hallway, breathing heavy. She bled from a cut on her temple, forcing her to keep one eye squeezed shut. “And give me th—” Tamara was cut off as she was _lifted_ off the ground and thrown back. Her head smashed against the doorframe with a sickening _thud_ and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Henry _hoped_ she was just unconscious.

He swallowed the frog that leapt to his throat.

His mother stared at her outstretched hand, shaking. “That was supposed to be a bind,” she said. “Henry, I didn’t mean to…” She frowned, looking lost.

“We… we.” He took a breath to steady himself. “We need to get out of here.” Emma always said you could deal with how you felt after getting safe. At this rate Henry thought poor Archie was going to be overwhelmed at their next session. He helped his mom to her feet again, and this time she was able to mostly hold herself up.

From the way her face scrunched up in concentration, Henry thought it was not an easy thing.

“I can safely say,” Hook said as he stumbled into the room. “That my hook isn’t poisoned any longer.” He spotted Tamara on the ground, scoffed, and stepped over her. “A bit of help, lad?” He turned his shoulder to show his hook buried in the meat of his lower back. “Can’t quite reach it.”

His mom snorted at the sight, once again leaning back on the torture chair. Henry took the hook in hand and _yanked_ just as the captain opened his mouth to speak. Whatever he planned on saying was replaced by a high-pitched _squeak,_ and Henry pointedly refused to acknowledge the fresh flow of blood that welled with the weapon free.

“Help my mom and let’s go,” Henry said, giving the pirate back his hook. The captain hastened to obey, his face screwed up in a look of distaste that was matched by the former queen’s. They didn’t argue, though, and Hook supported more of Henry’s mother’s weight than Henry could. Henry looked to Tamara and squashed the instinct to check on her.

Without knowing how much time they had, he couldn’t risk it. _And_ , he thought, _she brought it on herself_. The notion boosted his determination and he followed the injured pair’s sedate pace, keeping an eye out for danger.

“You could give me my heart back at any point now, Henry.” Hook said, adjusting the arm around his shoulders. He sent a sour look to the queen. “And _you_ can do a bit more here.”

“Go to hell Hook.” The response lacked his mother’s usual bite, and Henry’s worry redoubled.

“I’ll give it back once my mom is safe,” Henry said. “So let’s _move_.” Hook grunted and picked up his pace, more dragging the woman than doing anything else as they climbed up stairs.

They emerged from the building to the orange-tinged light of the setting sun, and Henry was wearily relieved that they were still in Storybrooke. An isolated part of the docks well away from the rest of the town by what looked like a winding road through the woods, but still within its borders.

“We need to find a phone.” They trudged forward and Henry kept a worried eye on both adults, who each grew paler with every step. With Hook losing a bunch of blood and him having no idea how his mom was even standing, Henry could only guess how long they would last.

His heart skipped a beat in hope as the unmistakable revving of an engine reached his ears. A black sedan with tinted windows came into view and Henry waved his arms in a frantic attempt to flag them down. They driver slammed on their brakes, stopping halfway between Henry and the injured pair.

“Henry Mills!” A deep voice called in surprise as the driver’s side door opened and a man in a pristine suit, neat hair, shiny shoes, and spotless glasses stepped onto the street. Henry’s warning bells sounded as he did not recognize the person even as the stranger clearly knew _him_. “You should be safely tucked away.”

He gulped, glanced toward his mom and Hook, and determined that they were not likely going to be winning another fight even as Hook looked like he was psyching himself up for one.

The man stepped closer, holding his out wide in a placating gesture. “The folks at Home Office are eager to meet you,” the stranger said. Henry shuffled back to keep his distance. To his terror, he spotted his mother collapse her entire bodyweight onto Hook.

Henry knew what he had to do.

 _Get her help as fast as you can. Run!_ He thought the words until Hook took the former mayor up in a fireman’s carry and _sprinted_ toward town. Henry made sure not to think about the trail of blood Hook left behind, and turned to run in the other direction the moment he was sure Hook was following orders.

“Michael!” The mystery man shouted, and a weight hit Henry in the side, lifting him off his feet. It took a moment to realize he had been hefted onto someone’s shoulder. He kicked, punched, and tried to _bite_ at his captor, but the new man held him firm.

“What about the other two?” The man who held him asked, grunting at Henry’s blows. “Wasn’t that Captain Hook?” The stranger with the glasses shrugged.

“Inconsequential. We’ll get the kid secure and figure out what the hell Owen and Tamara have managed to screw up this time.” There was a pause. “Toss him in the back.”

Henry couldn’t think of a way out and stopped struggling enough to throw Hook’s heart off the side of the road into the woods as hard as he could. The black pouch concealed the red glow as it arced through the air, but Henry still traced it until it disappeared among the trees. If nothing else, Henry felt reassured they couldn’t use Hook like Greg had.

“For your sake Henry,” the first man said, deadpan. “I hope that wasn’t important. Let’s go Michael.” Henry was stuffed into the backseat of the car and could register a wire cage between the front and back of the interior before a hood was shoved over his head and his hands were tied behind his back again.

“Who _are_ you people?” He asked as a door was slammed shut. He received no answer as he felt the car pull away.

They rode in silence, and Henry could only spare the energy to hope that his mother would be okay, and that Emma would be able to find him.

He somehow doubted he’d have the chance to escape again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all she wrote for this one, folks! The Darlings were called in quite a bit earlier here than in canon, but Greg's going-off-the-rails mentality, it was deemed necessary by the powers that be.
> 
> These two are much more competent than the original pair, and the stakes have just been raised. The only person who knows what happened to Henry now is Hook, who finds himself in a position of some leeway with our remaining heroes. That can only go well...
> 
> Meanwhile, Greg is off in the middle of nowhere digging up old secrets, Midas' bloc are through being patient, and ongoing machinations in the Enchanted Forest will soon start bleeding over into Storybrooke. And what of Tamara? Alive or dead, what do you think?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed a closer look into Henry's head as he deals with the craziness that is his life. He gets a lot of flack for how he acts in canon, but the kid does not have it easy. Still, I believe I showed reacting realistically here. Tell me what you think!


	19. 19 - Interlude IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all and welcome to the Fourth Interlude chapter. We're rolling ever closer to the end of our AU Season 2 as the situation grows ever more desperate. Enjoy!

\---

**August I**

\---

The wind ravaged the trees, tearing away discolored leaves with every lasting gust and painting the sky a battle of red, orange, and yellow for a single breath before soulless grey emerged the victor without fail. The drab clouds whirled overhead with the promise of a late autumn storm, and dark waves crashed to shore in the distance with gusto, foreshadowing the same.

August reached out a hand to catch a golden leaf broken from the pack, but its agile dance proved too nimble for his clumsy fingers grasp. He watched it float along the breeze with a frown before moving on, joints clanking with every step.

The air would smell of salt and earth and cold, he assumed, and he imagined the taste of it on his tongue. He shook his head at the notion, pushing one clunky step in front of the other and trying to keep his focus on the path forward.

Would today be the day he could do it? Acknowledge his punishment and embrace the freedom it offered?

Rain fell. Scattered drops became a constant stream, but August felt none of it, troubled only how the ground sank beneath his feet easier with each passing second. He debated turning back, but decided to press forward.

Getting stuck in the mud would be at least worth a laugh, and that had been in short supply these past months.

He wondered then if he _could_ laugh, as speaking often proved difficult enough. The Blue Fairy’s spell was never meant to work this way…

A pained cry carried along the wind to one of August’s remaining two senses and he stopped in his tracks, head creaking in the direction of the source. After a brief battle, melancholy lost out to curiosity and he adjusted his path with quick, squelching steps.

He came across a man on his knees, head reared back and shouting incoherent curses to the gods at the top of his lungs. A wide hole had been dug before him, but whatever had been buried in the earth now rested beneath inches of muddy water.

August paused as the man’s ravings turned toward murder, a deep, uneasy instinct warning him as he could not recall the man’s face from the storybook.

“You alright, friend?” He asked for lack of a better icebreaker. The man’s attention snapped to August, his visage falling from raged anguished to shocked horror like a flip of the switch.

The stranger recoiled in a backwards crab walk until he regained his feet. August held his hands up in a placating gesture, and tried to look as unthreatening as possible.

A might harder when you looked like a mannequin come to life rather than possessing a well-crafted cocksure smile.

“Easy, easy. I don’t mean any—“

August cut himself off and dove to the side as the man drew a gun in shaking fingers, face screwing up as anger beat out fear.

His shoulder dug into the mud and his momentum stopped dead. August tried yanking himself free, but the ground held him fast.

“Fucking _hate_ magic!” The man snarled out the shout, adjusting his aim and unloading three shots without hesitation.

Instinct caused August to flinch, but his curse proved a boon as the bullets lodged into the wood in his chest without the mildest sense of irritation. Both he and the stranger stared at the cooling metal resting just over the spot his heart should have been, dumbfounded.

_I’ll be damned._

August used the moment of shock to hurl himself out of the hole and lurch to his feet. At his full height he loomed over the shooter, who seemed glued in place with a defiant sort of fear in his eyes.

“What the hell _are_ you?”

The rueful chuckle August went for came out as something closer to a growl. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, debating just leaving the man to his own devices. He doubted he could outrun anyone in the mud, but he did not think it likely the man would chase after him.

But leaving a crazy bastard with a gun to roam free sparked an old protective instinct deep within August’s wooden soul.

He couldn’t let this man go and hope he never ran across Geppetto.

Plus, getting shot had irked him some, and it was closest August had come to _feeling_ anything beyond apathetic despair in months.

He took a step and the stranger let loose with the rest of his clip. The bullets killed August’s momentum as the man grouped every shot at August’s center mass. He tried to grin as he felt nothing but the resistance as he kept moving forward, and wondered what his expression must have looked like for the other man to recoil so harshly.

He reared back a fist and felt the promise of power behind the blow as it flew through the air with all the speed of a coconut-laden swallow. His opponent dodged beneath the arm with ease, spinning to punch August right where his kidney should have been.

August stumbled but kept his balance, and his would-be killer screamed, hugging a rapidly swelling hand to his chest. While the man stared at his useless limb, August lowered his shoulders and went for a grapple, catching the man around the middle. With a surprising ease, he managed to lift the man off his feet and slam him into the ground with enough force for August to hear the air leave his lungs.

“It’s like punching a tree, right?” He tried to quip, but the downed man could only heave a breath as he tried to get his lungs to work right. August shrugged and dug into a pocket for his phone, hoping he’d be able to use the damn thing in his state.

It powered up with a cheerful tune, its battery life decent despite having not been turned on in months, and he was greeted by a message showing a good dozen missed calls from the sheriff. They tapered off the more time had passed since he ran, until they stopped altogether a month beforehand.

Before August could register how he felt about the discovery, a _scratch-hiss_ sound drew his attention back to the stranger, finding him back on his feet with a burning flare gripped in his functional hand.

_Who carries a flare?_

The man moved faster than August could swing around, driving the flaming end of the stick into one of the divots left behind by the bullets. August managed to grip the man by the shoulder and backhand him away, but it did not stop the dry wood beneath his clothes from catching alight.

A scream tore through whatever acted as his throat as it _burned_.

All things considered, August would not have chosen fire to be the first thing he felt to be fire.

Thought escaped him as the tongues of fire licked along his torso. The rain kept his clothes from catching light, but whatever kept his wooden flesh safe from water worked against him as it felt as if dozens of tiny, serrated claws bit at him as the fire began to grow.

August lunged for the hole his attacker dug, the muddy water drowning the fire in an instant. The pain left behind was initially sharp and stinging, but began to fade as the cold soothed his wounds back to numbness.

His relief proved short lived as he moved to push himself up and found something held him down in the inches deep water. His eyes snapped open and he came face to face with a human skull not an inch from his nose. A shocked shout slipped from his throat, sending bubbles flying from his mouth and ushering in the jarring sensation of needing to take a breath.

The surprise at actually needing to breathe trumped his fear and thrust his arms out behind him as hard as he could, hitting something halfway through his swing that let him surge from the watery grave with a gasping breath.

His attacker lay in the mud in the fetal position, clutching his crotch with a high-pitched whine tumbling through the rainy air. August blinked at the man, considered his options, and reared back a leg and kicked the bastard in the back of the head, knocking him out.

He had no way to bind the man’s arms and kept one eye on him in the minutes it took to find his phone again and managed to dial a number.

“Swan.” Her voice sounded as if she had gargled gravel, her tone the shortest he had ever heard it before. August hesitated to respond until she voiced an annoyed query.

“Emma,” he said and paused, trying to figure out how to word his situation.

“August?”

He flinched at the incredulity in her tone.

“I’m… I’ve got something you’re going to want to see.”

\---

**Snow II**

\---

Snow wondered when she began to hate the hospital so much.

As drawn as she had been to David, the sterile halls had been all but a second home for her when she had only been Mary Margaret. Visiting him every day had left her melancholy, but also with a sense of hope just on the edge of her conscious thought.

Before Emma came along and brought true happiness back to her life, her visiting with her comatose true love was the only thing that kept her going some days.

It was an ironic twist of fate, she supposed, that she had spent nearly as much time visiting loved ones in the hospital since the curse broke.

She watched her daughter watching Regina and her heart clenched. The bags beneath Emma’s eyes shouted her exhaustion to the world. Her limp hair and sagged shoulders highlighted her despair, and Snow had yet to be able to get Emma to take a moment’s rest since Henry was taken. But the way her jaw clenched and the sharp light in her eye comforted Snow that her daughter refused to give up.

She hugged her arms across the middle, worry for Henry dominating her thoughts for a moment before she shook took a breath and overcame it. They had gotten everything out of Hook when he had run to town carrying an unconscious Regina despite his lifeblood leaving a gruesome trail in his wake.

His tale had been the only thing to make Emma smile as pride for her son won over her despair for the shortest of moments.

Unfortunately, the boat house Hook described proved empty save for the horrid set up Mendel had used to torture Regina.

An involuntary shiver ran down Snow’s spine at the thought of _anyone_ going through what Regina did. Not even she deserved such.

“Swan.” Her daughter’s haggard voice drew her to the present. Emma pressed her phone to her ear with a grim expression and Snow’s heart dropped.

Had the kidnappers contacted them again?

Emma’s expression morphed to pure shock. “August?”

Snow blinked, nonplussed. They had all assumed August had left town for good after he had disappeared from his room at Granny’s.

“Describe him,” Emma demanded, her free hand gripping the foot of Regina’s bed hard enough for the plastic to creak. Her lips turned up to a snarl. “You _keep_ him there August, you hear me?” She hung up the phone and studied Regina’s face with an inscrutable expression for impossibly long moments until it was all Snow could do not to demand what August had said.

“August has Mendel,” Emma said at length, tearing her eyes away from the unconscious woman at last. A renewed sense of hope bloomed in the corner of Snow’s heart even as she bit back the dozens of questions she wanted to ask. “I’m going to pick him up and I need you to stay here in case she wakes up.”

Snow wanted to argue, but the intensity in her daughter’s eyes gave her pause. She recognized the uphill battle for what it would be, and chose not to cost them any more time.

“I’ll watch over her,” she said, and tried to smile. It came strained and Emma did not return the gesture. She turned back to Regina and looked as if she wanted to speak, but she hesitated before snapping her jaw shut and rushing from the room with a sense of purpose.

In the wake of her daughter’s absence, it took only moments for Snow to feel entirely out of place. Standing over Regina’s unconscious form, Snow could not help but to think that the former queen would want just about anyone else in all realms to be watching over her rather than her estranged stepdaughter.

The image of Regina’s annoyed sneer came to mind as easy as breathing and Snow turned away and stomped out her negative thoughts. No matter how hard she tried, it still seemed impossible to not think of Regina as an enemy…

“Henry?”

The groggy voice froze Snow and she lamented fate for not letting Regina wake up five minutes earlier.

In the moment it took for Snow to put on her game face and turn back around, Regina had sat up and cradled her head in her hand, her skin a hue close to green. Snow laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder, only for Regina to recoil and press herself closer to the head of the bed.

“Regina, how do you feel?” Snow asked in her gentlest voice.

“Where’s Henry? Is he safe?” Regina raised her eyes, blinking them back to focus as she looked around the room. When she spotted the look on Snow’s face, Regina’s entire posture _shrank_ in a way that left Snow off balance.

“Regina…”

“He was with us. He got us _out_.” Pride combined with worry and Regina swung her legs over the edge of her bed. “Where’s the damn pirate?” The former queen stood and stumbled, cursing, and Snow rushed to keep her steady.

“Hook got you here on Henry’s orders,” Snow said, leaning Regina back to the bed despite the woman’s protests. “He said two more strangers showed up and Henry distracted them to let you two get away.” Regina clenched her jaw, looking away. “We went to the boat house he described, but it was empty.”

“Another tracking spell, then.”

“Emma tried it already,” Snow said and Regina blinked in surprise. “It didn’t work, but she’s tracking down another lead right now.”

“Then take me to her,” Regina demanded and made to stand again. Snow held her down with a firm hand and the former queen’s look could have set water aflame.

“You‘re in no state, Regina.”

“My _son_ is out there.” Regina gripped Snow’s wrist like a vice, ripping it away. “And I’ll be damned if I _ever_ let him go without a fight.”

There was a taunt behind Regina’s eyes as she spoke that stoked the kindles of Snow’s anger.

“The best thing you can do is stay put while the rest of us figure out our next move.” She couldn’t keep her annoyance out of her voice.

“Did you think you could stop me, dear?” Regina said with a glare, her palm turning up into an open fist Snow had learned to fear years ago.

She backed away, and, instead of her usual ball of fire, Regina summoned a _pillar_ of flame. Snow leapt backward, but the magic ended in an instant with Regina clutching at her hand with a pained grunt. Angry red skin blistered in Regina’s palm as the sorceress cursed under her breath as she trembled.

Snow pursed her lips as the implications set in.

“What happened to your magic?”

“It’s temporary.” Regina grunted out the words, trying to use disdain to drown out her fear.

“You hope.”

The glare sent Snow’s way spoke volumes.

“Regina, you’re awake!” David stepped into the room, pocketing his phone and hiding a look of surprise.

“And your talent for stating the obvious is as sharp as ever.”

“Back to normal then,” came David’s deadpan reply.

Regina rolled her eyes and started to wrap her hand with gauze off her bedside table.

“Some good news at least.” David turned to Snow, tapping the pocket he’d slipped his phone into. “Anton says the shoots have merged. The stalk should flower within the week.”

Snow’s ever present desire to see her entire family returned home played the image of them happy, together in their land across her mind. Worry stole the joy from her heart as part of her whispered the possibility of Henry never seeing the land he should someday rule.

“Tensions will be running high,” Snow said for want of distraction.

“Doc and Happy have the dwarves running on shifts. Someone’s always going to be there.”

“Any more trouble from Midas?”

David shook his head with a frown. “They’ve spotted a couple of his supporters in the area a few times, but nothing direct.”

Snow wrung her hands in thought. “I would have expected them to make a move during all of this.”

“I doubt they’ve been idle,” Regina said, having pulled herself to her feet again with her bandaged hand clutched to her chest. “We can’t keep postponing the election forever.” The former queen took a ragged breath and a hesitant step, seeming to gain confidence as she kept her balance. “At this point I say let them have the damn town.”

“We can’t just let someone like Midas seize control,” Snow said with a sigh. As much as they were all hurting, defeatism never helped anyone. “Not when we still aren’t sure who’s pulling the strings.”

“Three guesses,” David said, a shadow crossing his features at the thought of his false father.

Snow inclined her head to his point. “And especially not when we’re so close to having a way home.”

“And it would be a grand tragedy if anyone other than your family controlled those beans, wouldn’t it, your majesty?”

The sarcasm floated through the air full of accusation and without patience. Mitchell Herman stood in the doorway to Regina’s room, his hair and pea coat wet from the rain and his expression locked in a scowl.

“We’ve been over this, Mitchell. The beans are under the jurisdiction of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department as obtained during a criminal investigation.” David spoke the words in a bored monotone, crossing his arms.

“So you say,” Mitchell said in clear disbelief. His shrewd gaze fell on each of them in turn, pausing on Regina long enough to offer a derisive sniff, before settling on Snow. “I come with an offer.”

Regina let out a scoff, arms crossing over her hospital gown clad middle. “What could you possibly have that we could want?”

“Information.” Mitchell drew himself up to stand straight, not giving an inch under their combined scrutiny. “Possibly related to Henry’s disappearance.”

Snow’s breath hitched and she heard David gasp as well. Regina stepped forward, somehow managing to channel the intense aura of the Evil Queen despite her state of dress.

“What do you know?” She demanded and Mitchell held up a hand.

“First, there is no guarantee that this will help,” he said with what Snow thought was a genuine note of concern. “But the timing works out. And second, well.” He grimaced. “There is the cost.”

Regina’s left hand lashed out and grabbed Mitchell by the collar in a vicelike grip. “If you have _any_ information about my son, you will speak or I will _make_ you.”

The moment Regina moved David had acted, placing a firm grip on Regina’s shoulder with his other hand hovering near his weapon. He did not speak, however, and Snow was less than inclined to stop Regina.

Mitchell did not flinch under the assault, grasping Regina’s wrist and tearing it away as he spoke. “Were it my choice alone.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s simple, drop out of the mayoral race and the intelligence is yours.”

“Done,” Regina said without hesitation, but Mitchell just shook his head.

“Not you,” he said, nodding toward Snow. “ _You_.”

Snow allowed herself the shortest moment of indignation before jutting out her chin in challenge as she spoke.

“If what you have helps save my grandson, you have my promise.”

David looked disconcerted and Snow was not quite sure she saw _thankfulness_ in Regina’s eyes before.

“Fair enough,” Mitchell said with a nod. “An anonymous contact reports unusual activity in the mines these past few days. Strangers in the tunnels.”

“Anonymous,” David said in disbelief. Mitchell ignored him and kept his attention between Snow and Regina.

“The mines are only worked by the dwarves, what business does your _contact_ have down there?” Snow asked.

“His own,” Mitchell said and held up his hands. “Believe me or not, I’ve already done more than I should have.”

The man turned on his heel and left them. Snow did not waste her breath to admonish the former king.

“David,” she said instead, turning to her husband. “The dwarves haven’t reported anything?”

“When they’re not at the stalk, they’re collecting fairy dust,” he said, shaking his head. “They only use a small part of the mines, though.”

“What else could somebody possibly want in the mines,” Snow mused, then caught the stricken look on Regina’s paling face. “Regina?”

The former queen snapped her attention to Snow. “We need to get to the mines,” she said. “Immediately.” She brushed by David and Snow, gathering up her actual clothes from beside her bed.

“What do you know that we don’t?”

Regina paused just long enough to pinch her eyes shut in a grimace.

“A failsafe,” she said, full of wariness. “Hardcoded into the curse. If it were used…” She trailed off, eyes trailing over to Snow with an expression of deep foreboding. “It would kill us all.”

David’s hand sought hers and Snow grasped it with a reassuring squeeze.

She wondered there would ever be an actual chance to return to normalcy.

\---

**Tamara I**

\---

Tamara woke with a start, eyes snapping open.

The world was a rush of blurred colors and double figures that sent her stomach on a dangerous churn, and so she slammed her eyes shut with a soft groan.

_What the hell happened?_ she thought, remembering only the Evil Queen’s desperate face before everything went to black

“—send for the shadow and get this over with,” a vaguely familiar voice spoke, sounding disgruntled.

“Do you really trust it to not just take the kid?” Another man responded in a bored tone Tamara knew well. She forced her eyes open again, and rode out the world spinning until everything came to an agonizing slowness. Her boss stood with his back to her, facing a man Tamara had only ever briefly interacted with.

“I don’t like leaving this to chance either, Michael,” her boss continued, adjusting his glasses and patting a bulging pouch he wore on his belt. “But they have to serve some purpose, don’t—” He cast a glance over his shoulder, blinking in surprise. “Awake already, Tamara?”

“What are you doing here, John?” She pushed herself up until she was sitting, thankful the world chose to remain still. “Where’s Owen?”

“Still missing in action,” Michael said without bothering to hide his annoyance. “You two’ve almost let everything go to complete waste, here.”

Tamara winced, unable to deny it. Owen had gone off the handle, and she hadn’t been prepared to deal with it.

“He’ll turn up,” John said in as neutral a tone as Tamara ever heard. “But for now we need you to contact your other lover.”

He pulled an old flip phone from one of his jacket’s pockets and handed it to her with an amused smile.

“My cover was blown,” she pointed out, but flipped the phone open to begin dialing numbers in any case. When dealing with John Darling, it was best to listen to orders.

“We know,” Michael said sardonically.

“And we’re going to use that,” John said, casting a look over his shoulder toward his brother. “He’s the son of a man renowned across realms for making deals. He won’t be able to resist this.”

Tamara doubted their logic, but kept her opinion to herself as she pressed her phone to her ear. It rang only once.

“Henry?” The hope and desperation in the man’s voice twisted a part of Tamara she could not completely suppress.

She ignored the familiar specter of guilt and adopted a confident tone.

“Hello Neal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatively short after such a long absence, I know, but the desire to write for Once has been hard to maintain with the way the show went at the end of 5a. I actually haven't watched any of 5b yet, as I plan to let it finish before I run through it on a binge, but everything I hear has been pretty hit or miss. Still, I do feel the undying urge to at least finish out my version of Season 2, so have no fear about this story being abandoned.
> 
> That said, reviews give me life, so please leave one - good or bad - and let me know how you enjoyed this chapter and the fresh points of view alongside the return visit to Snow's head!


	20. Emma VI

Emma crossed her arms and watched as her prisoner stared at the cell ceiling with an absent, forlorn expression. Greg Mendel had next to no useful information to offer save for the possible names for the two newcomers that Hook had described.

John and Michael Darling.

She half wondered if Wendy was behind everything.

But on everything else he had been useless, offering nothing more than they already knew. The pressure behind Emma's temples grew and she slammed her eyes closed, resisting the urge to vent her frustration on the man in a tantrum that would have made the Evil Queen blush. The knowledge of what Mendel did to Regina made it a next to impossible temptation to resist.

_There has to be something we've missed._

"How long's Henry been missing?"

August had been quiet the entire ride back to the sheriff's station, his solemnness a far cry from the cocksure writer he was before he had reverted to his wooden form.

"Too long," she said, and marveled at how her voice scratched at her throat as she spoke.

A wooden hand landed on her shoulder, not quite squeezing. "If there's anywhere I can help…"

Emma found it next to impossible to make out an expression on August's face, but his tone held a note of urgent determination that he had used whenever he had tried to convince her magic was real. She almost smiled at the memory.

"Just keep your eyes open," she said, eying the gouges all over his body where Mendel tried to shoot him and the scorch marks all over his stomach. "And try not to get killed."

He smiled in a way that might have been meant to be wry.

"After we get Henry back home," Emma said, trying to sound sure of the outcome, "we'll work on figuring out how to get you back to normal."

August shook his head. "There's no cure for this," he said. "I broke a promise with the Blue Fairy. No going back from that."

"There's always a way." Emma filed away a thought to ask Regina about it later. "And you used to be the one who embraced the impossible."

August shrugged, noncommittal, and shot a look toward the door. "Someone's coming."

Emma heard the footsteps a moment later, three sets racing down the hall. Her parents burst through the double doors first, out of breath, followed by a pale, sweaty, and grim faced Regina.

Adrenaline spurred her to jittery focus, her heartbeat thundering and part of her mind recoiling at the idea of _more_ bad news. "What's going on?" She slipped around her desk and latched an arm onto Regina's, bracing the other woman's unsteady balance. The former queen accepted the help without issue, worrying Emma even more as she guided the woman to sit on Ruby's desk. "And how are you even _up_ , Regina?"

"Things have taken a turn," Mary Margaret said in Regina's silence. Emma kept a hand on the woman's should as she turned to face her mother. The schoolteacher looked _frightened_ in a way Emma had not seen since before the curse shattered. "There are more strangers in Storybrooke."

"I know," Emma said with a brief embrace of relief. She gestured toward the cell with her free hand. "That bastard told me everything."

"I doubt he did." Regina's voice sounded worse than Emma's. Her eyes were squeezed closed as she gathered herself, blinking open to linger on Emma's hand before meeting her eyes. "Whoever these strangers are, they've stolen the most dangerous artifact in town."

"They got into your vault?"

Regina shook her head, but it was David that spoke, "The mines. They stole a trigger from the mines that could destroy Storybrooke and everyone in it."

Emma's blood turned to ice as she considered the possibility. "Why is that a thing? _How_ is that a thing?"

"The curse," Mary Margaret said, sending an inscrutable look Regina's way.

The former queen grimaced and looked away. "It was built in, a failsafe." She gathered herself and met Emma's eyes once again. "Once it's activated, there's no way to stop it."

An incredulous laugh tried to bubble up Emma's throat, but she crushed it with the last dregs of her will.

"How… how quickly would it happen?"

"A few minutes at most."

Emma closed her eyes and swallowed the urge to scream, cry, and hit something at the same time. _We're so fucked_ , she thought.

"If they have Henry and a way to destroy the town, then there's got to be a reason they haven't acted yet," August said, drawing three surprised looks his way as Emma's parents and Regina realized he had been standing off the corner.

"August?" Mary Margaret asked, her hand covering her mouth and brows furrowing in concern. Emma imagined the wooden man meant to grimace at the attention.

"I think there's a chance they don't know how to activate it."

Regina shook her head at David's idea. "If they knew it existed, they know how to activate it."

" _How_ they knew about it is another question," Mary Margaret said, pushing off her worry for August to level a look toward Regina.

"Are you accusing me of somehow telling them?"

Emma stepped between the two. "That doesn't matter. The only thing I can think of that would stop them is if they need something else. If we can figure out what that it is—"

"We can use that to stop them," Regina finished, her jaw tightening. Emma nodded.

"This asshole," she said, jerking her thumb to point to Mendel, "went after Henry to get to you. So what would his bosses be—"

Her phone's ringtone cut her off and Emma scrambled to answer it without bothering to check the call ID, her heart skipping a beat hoping that it might somehow be Henry.

"Hello!?"

The beat it took for an answer to come lasted an eternity and Emma's brief hope was dashed as it was Ruby that spoke rather than Henry.

"Emma!" The werewolf was out of breath and the line seemed garbled with static. "The Dark One's picked a fight with the dwarves and he's done something—" Ruby let out a small yell and a string of curses. "Get over here!" she yelled, and the line went dead.

"Can it all just fucking _stop_ for a day?" Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, desperately holding onto the fraying edge of her calm.

"Emma…"

She took a breath, did her best to push her emotions off, and snapped to a focus.

"David, Mary Margaret. Find Belle and get her to track down Gold." They looked as if they wanted to object, but Emma cut them off with an emphatic, "Go!"

David nodded, pressed his phone to his ear, and headed down the hall with Mary Margaret on his heels, casting a worried look over her shoulder.

"They need a portal," Regina said, removing Emma's hand from her shoulder in a gentle grip and standing, somehow steady. "So they made a deal with the Dark One."

Emma wondered how Regina managed a smile that radiated nothing but anger.

"The beans shouldn't have even been ready." Emma shook her head and addressed August. "I need you to get with your father, Archie, and the fairies. Anyone whose word will get people to listen."

August closed his eyes and looked away before nodding. "Prepping for an evac, right?"

"Yeah, if they use the trigger…"

"Better amnesiac than dead," Regina finished as Emma trailed off.

"Right. No time to waste then," August said, looking between Emma and Regina with his impossible-to-read expression. He gave a halfhearted wave, lumbered off, and Emma frowned after him, sparing a silent wish for his reunion with his father to go well.

"He's right Emma, we need to move."

Regina made to walk by her, but Emma caught her by the arm and stared her down.

"You good?" She asked, knowing how inadequate the question was. Regina had been _tortured_ for nearly a full day and Emma could not imagine how she was back on her feet with so little time spent recovering.

For the briefest of moments, Regina's shoulders sagged and her eyes closed. "No," she said, but when she opened her eyes to meet Emma's stare, they had hardened with a fathomless determination. "But we need to go anyway."

"Okay." Emma breathed out a sigh, squeezed the woman's arm, and tried to put her lessons to good use. "Brace yourself."

Emma waved her other arm around them, focusing her mind to a clear focus. Smoke the color of pale daisies whirled around them and Emma's stomach roiled as if she had just gone down a rollercoaster's first drop.

The feeling passed a moment later as the smoke cleared, dropping them in the aftermath of chaos.

The beanfield had been torn asunder, chunks of earth ripped out of the ground as if clawed by a giant beast. Six of the dwarves, Ruby, and Neal lay strewn about, _hopefully_ unconscious, but Emma's heart sank further at the blackened remains of the young, magical beanstalk fallen on its side, gangly roots exposed to the air.

Anton knelt beside the dead plant, its blackened remains coming up to his chest, and he stared at it with a look of pure anguish as tears streamed from his eyes.

"Check on the others," Emma said, already running toward the giant. He glanced up at her approach, features twisting in a rage that stopped Emma short, her hand coming to rest on her gun.

"Humans!" he shouted, skin going splotchy in his anger. "Every time it's the same. Look what you've done! LOOK!" His eyes trailed back onto the stalk and his mood swung back to despair as fresh sobs shook his shoulders.

"Anton, I am _sorry_ ," she said, approaching with cautious steps and trying to sound as genuine as she was able. "I don't know if we can fix this, but I _need_ to know what happened. Was this Gold? The Dark One?"

He nodded, resting a reverent hand on the deadened plant. "He didn't say a word, just blasted us all away like we were less than _nothing_ ," he spat the word as a curse. "I don't know why I wasn't knocked out, but I saw it all.

"He did something to the beanstalk, and, for just a second, it was beautiful." His watery eyes turned to stare her down. "It flowered," he said with a strained smile. "I was never sure it would, but it did, and I thought he was performing a miracle. But…"

A fresh cry of sadness ripped from the giant's throat and he hunched over the dead plant. Emma wished she had the words to ease the man's burdens, but forced herself to turn away from the sight as she came up empty.

Awful as it was, she had more important things to worry about.

Regina stood across one of the divots in the ground, shoulder to shoulder with a revived Ruby as both glared down Neal.

The dwarves, she noted as she jogged toward the trio, were still knocked out.

"—didn't even have a chance to try and convince him." Neal's words slurred and Emma doubted the red in his cheeks was due to the cold. "Couldn't stop him."

She grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around in one smooth motion, pinning him with her sternest look.

"Explain what the hell just happened."

Neal couldn't meet her eyes as he spoke. "Tamara called." He flexed his hands in and out of fists. "Wanted to make a deal with the Dark One." He let out a laugh tinged with anger. "If he could get her a way out of this realm, she'd give Henry back."

Emma's heart skipped a beat. It was a trade she would make a thousand times over, but the _why_ of it still bothered her. What the hell were these people's motivations?

"And you decided to tell _Gold_ before anyone else?" Ruby asked in disbelief.

"He heard the call and he didn't hesitate," Neal said, shaking his head. "Said he would fix everything. And, well…" He gestured to the destruction around them.

"Where was the exchange going to happen?" Regina asked, her face and tone inscrutable.

"The docks. My father was supposed to go alone."

"Definitely not a trap," Emma noted dryly.

"There's a chance it could work out." Ruby looked as if she doubted her own words more than Emma did.

"Nothing ever does when the Dark One is involved."

"Then let's get after them."

Emma's heart warmed to the werewolf as Ruby's eyes glinted in determination despite the clear exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. The woman had been bearing too much of the police work on her own the past few days, and Emma pushed away the guilt that she was going to ask for more.

"No Rubes, you need to meet with August and help get people ready for an evacuation. If this goes belly up, I need to know you guys are getting everyone you can safe."

Emma could see the questions burn in her deputy's eyes, but the brunette only gave a sharp, reluctant nod before running off to rouse the dwarves.

"Emma, I—"

"Help her, Neal," Emma said, holding up a hand and not looking toward the man. Anger and frustration roiled in her gut and she feared she wouldn't be able to hold it back if she gave him the time of day. "If they have to cross the line, somebody who knows the situation is going to have to be with them."

"Emma—"

She grabbed Regina's arm and let her magic flow.

The second transportation spell went as smooth as the first, but Emma was able to mentally prepare herself for the jarring sensation and gained her new bearings in an instant.

The _Jolly Roger_ rocked to the beat of the harbor's choppy current, water spitting up in the air on its sides in a spray of salt and grey. Beside her, Regina sagged into her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and her pallor green.

Emma braced the woman's weight with a panicked motion, fresh worry over how close to empty Regina was running blooming at the fore of her mind.

"Regina—"

"Warning next time, Swan."

The former queen took the better part of a minute to regain her feet and Emma scanned the wharf, locking onto a trio at the center with a hitch of her breath.

Between a bespectacled man in a pristine suite and a haggard and disheveled Tamara stood Henry with his hands and feet bound, a blindfold over his eyes, and duct tape covering his mouth

The amount of rage and relief Emma felt all at once staggered her and drew a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl from her throat.

There would be no way to approach on foot without being seen, so Emma reached out with both hands, her magic answering her call with an instinctive need to see Henry _safe_ , but Regina yanked her arms away and flinched from Emma's resulting glare.

"There must be a reason Rumple hasn't just used his powers to end this," Regina said, turning back to look at the scene before them and Emma saw the same swirl of emotions she was feeling reflected in the other woman's eyes..

Emma blinked and followed her gaze, only then realizing Rumplestiltskin stood across from the strangers, holding up his hand so that the sun glinted off what he held. He was speaking, but Emma did not hear him until the wind changed, carrying his voice with it.

Regina shot Emma strange look, but said nothing as they listened in, creeping closer.

"—take you anywhere in all the realms, Dearie. Now tell me, how do you see this playing out?"

"You'll give my associate the bean, and we leave the kid behind when we take our leave." The man spoke in a calm tone, standing with his shoulders back and straight and his head held high. He held the confidence of a man who wanted to be exactly where he was and Emma's instincts raised their hackles.

Something wasn't right.

Gold seemed to share her disbelief as he laughed quietly.

"I've made many deals in my time," he said. "Centuries' worth of fools looking to cheat the Dark One. Do not suffer under the delusion you are any better than they."

The words carried a weight that sent a chill racing down Emma's spine, but the stranger just shrugged, unrumpled.

"If you want your grandson _whole_ , you have little choice here. Tamara."

The woman startled, her dark cheeks flushing with surprise before she nodded. She made her way toward Gold with the cautious steps of an animal sneaking by a predator, but the shopkeeper eyed her as if she were not worth the effort it took to pay her any attention.

Gold handed over the bean without fanfare, but Tamara had not taken one step back toward her accomplice before her relieved smile was wiped off her lips when her limbs snapped to her sides, freezing her in place. She fell back, eyes wide in panic, and landed in the crook of Gold's left arm, his right hand coming up to her throat, glowing with crimson magic.

The exchange took less than a handful of seconds and Emma blinked, nonplussed.

"Now release my grandson if you please."

"Well that was just downright expected," the stranger said in a drawl, making a show of checking his watch. "Shouldn't be long before your _cavalry_ arrives, yes?" The man asked, making air quotes around the word "cavalry" with a chuckle before leveling his bored gaze onto Gold. "Your mistake was thinking that I care whether she lives or dies."

An ugly sneer twisted Gold's features. "Let her blood be on your hands then." The fingers over Tamara's throat splayed open, the red energy glowing brighter between them. Emma braced herself for the display of gore, but a new voice stopped Gold cold and set the stranger to laughing.

"Rumple!" Belle burst from an alley behind Gold, her eyes raising from her phone, wide and worried. Emma's parents were two steps behind the librarian, David with his gun trained on Henry's abductor with one hand and his sword drawn with the other and Mary Margaret's bow knocked with an arrow keeping steady aim at the man as well.

Emma's heart soared as the odds turned more in their favor.

The energy gathered in Gold's hand dissipated and he let Tamara drop to the ground, still petrified.

"The Dark One's muzzle," the stranger said with a mock bow in lieu of a greeting.

"You alright Henry?" Mary Margaret asked without taking her eyes off her enemy. Henry shouted a muffled affirmative, but the stranger's grin just grew wider.

"You're outnumbered and outgunned," David said, squaring his shoulders as he stepped up beside Gold. "Here's where you give up."

"I count six on three," the man said and Emma's heart skipped a beat in surprise even as Regina sucked in a sharp gasp.

How long had he known they were there?

"And, well, we have the eyes in the sky."

The air rent with a thunderclap sounding in defiance of the sunny day, and less than a breath later Mary Margaret, David, Belle, and Tamara were all covered with a spray of crimson as Gold crumpled to the ground, mostly headless.

Bile burned the back of Emma's throat, and she was absolutely certain the soul crushingly horrified scream from Belle would haunt her for the rest of her days.

"Dark One neutralized Michael, get your ass down here! Tamara, the bean!" The stranger barked out the orders and grasped at the ropes binding Henry in place.

Emma and her parents through caution to the wind at the same time as both Mary Margaret and David fired their weapons on the stranger and Emma reached invisible hands to steal her son back.

Both bullets and arrow struck upon an unseen shield that blinked into a bright translucent green on contact that Emma barely registered before her magic was rebounded with such a force that struck her across the chest with a strength that rivaled Anton's, sending her up into the air and overboard, Regina's shocked cry ringing in her ears.

The water hit her like a thousand stinging needles to the back, stealing her breath and leaving Emma stunned until a wave crashed her into the barnacle covered hull of the _Jolly Roger_.

She latched onto the sodden wood and forced her bearings back to center as quickly as she could. "Jesus _fuck_ ," she muttered as her head cleared from the pain. "Still fucking bullshit."

She said as she used her own magic to port her back onto the dock in a whirl of yellow-white smoke, assessing the situation in a split second.

Belle and Tamara grappled near Gold's body, fighting over – she assumed – the bean, while David and Mary Margaret kept a steady stream of fire on the stranger, worrying her with how close he was to Henry.

But the man just laughed as every attack bounced off his light green bubble, and Emma now spotted a ring of whirling energy rotating around him and Henry, low to the ground and nearly invisible, reminding her of the spell that trapped Anton those weeks before.

She gathered energy to her palms, seawater steaming off her as the power flowed through her, and aimed to destroy the shield without harming Henry.

Before she could, Regina appeared behind the duo in her violet cloud, immediately dropping to one knee but still managing to get a hand on Henry and Emma's heart soared in a roaring thunder of triumph before it was ripped away from her.

"Not quite your majesty!" A whip of green, sparkling energy slithered from the man's hip with the speed of a striking snake, wrapping around Regina's neck. Emma saw Regina's eyes widen in shock for the brief moment before she was _ripped_ from the ground and sent across the wharf like a ragdoll. She landed in a heap and did not move.

Emma screamed, rending the ground with her magic and sending a fissure rocketing toward the bastard's feet. If she could break the shield…

But he met her attack with a laugh, the strange green energy lashing out from his hip in a dance matching his hand motions, meeting her spell meters away from his person and she felt as the energy was _leeched_ from it, sending her to his knees even as the man spun on his heels and sent the combined power in a shockwave that knocked the approaching David and Mary Margaret into the ground with an audible _thunk_.

Only when they started to move did Emma realize her breath had hitched in pure terror.

She looked back to the stranger, hatred and fury burning in her, but he just grinned at her even as he ripped Henry's blindfold off. Her son blinked, took in the carnage around him, and let out a muffled yell with tears blooming at the corner of his eyes.

Emma was on her feet and charging a moment later, magic held out in front of her in a shield of her own, but the man never lost his smile as he braced an arm across his chest, the power he wielded rising to meet his call.

She lowered her shoulder and braced for impact as magic met magic in a brilliant flash of yellow and green light. Emma's momentum was stopped dead as she pushed all her weight against the invisible barrier separating them.

"Power is useless without preparation, oh mighty Savior." The man flashed a perfect white grin and reared back his fist.

She had less than a moment of warning before her spell was broken and the force took her in the gut, sending her through the air in a jarring loss of direction that she could not overcome until she landed in a heap next to her parents and Regina.

Sheer willpower had her climbing to her feet a moment later even as her parents and Regina still struggled to regain theirs.

"Storybrooke's mightiest heroes!" The man mocked, holding onto a struggling Henry by the scruff of his neck. "Look how they struggle, Henry. Look how they use every bit of determination and willpower they have to save the day. Look, and remember how they failed."

"Did we!?"

Belle's accent had never sounded so sweet to Emma's ears as all eyes snapped in the woman's direction.

The librarian had somehow gotten ahold of David's sword and held the weapon to Tamara's back with one hand and hoisted the tiny jar containing the bean in the other. She sported a bloody nose, black eye, and bruises lining half her face, but she grinned, flashing bloodstained teeth.

Tamara was worse off as she stood ramrod straight with the blade pressed at the base of her spine, her nose crooked and pouring blood beneath wide, terrified eyes.

Emma gaped at the sight.

"Yes."

Emma did not register the kidnapper's answer before another gun sounded its banging fury and both bean and sword dropped from Belle's hands as she stared at a fresh hole blooming red in her chest. She made no sound as she sank to the ground, mouth forming a silent "oh," even as Tamara screamed in pain, grasping her shoulder and whirling on the new man running across the length of the wharf, a sniper rifle hanging across his back and a handgun held in a lazy grip.

"You fucking shot me!" she shouted through gritted teeth.

The newcomer laughed, uncaring, and scooped up the fallen bean as Emma tried to force her mind around shock and _move_.

"Complain later; we have what we need! You alright John?"

It was _Neal_ that spurred them to action as he sprinted in from the same direction the shooter came from – red in the face and breaths heaving as sweat stained his shirt - and bodily tackled the newcomer around the waste, sending both the bean and his gun flying through the air.

Everyone followed the arc of the bean even as Neal and the man brawled on the ground, and when it landed with the sharp _crack_ of shattered glass, Emma felt the power in the air shift and her breath was stolen from her once more when reality ripped open with a rumble of foreboding power.

It started small, green energy whirling around the tiny thing, but it bloomed in a blink to a vortex swirling along the ground. Lightning crackled within it and the wind kicked up around the magical whirlpool, promising the same danger of an approaching thunderstorm.

The thing's existence struck some part of Emma's instincts as purely _wrong_.

The moment passed, and everyone moved at once. Mary Margaret ran toward the fallen Belle while David raced at the grappling Neal and gunslinger. Tamara limped toward the man holding Henry, who was cursing as he fiddled with something on his belt with a panicked hand as the waters in the harbor grew choppier with every passing second.

Emma blinked, a terrible idea sparking in her mind, and did not think before reaching out with her magic.

"Brace yourself kid!" She yelled, and _pulled_ on the ocean waters with all her might. She felt the energy bleeding out of her at an alarming pace but grit her teeth and forced the magic to just _work_.

"We've done this dance already, Savior!" The kidnapper brought up his shield once more, but never looked to see the torrent of water that took him from behind and flooded half the pier.

Emma fell to one knee as her spell broke, feeling as if she had just run across Storybrooke and back at full speed. She forced her wavering attention to focus and spotted Henry scuttling along the soaked ground in their direction. Emma burst into motion, sprinting to her son with the half formed thought of teleporting him to Regina's vault when a fresh whip of energy lashed across her back, sending her sprawling backward.

John Darling advanced on her, raising a fist holding an oversized diamond swirling with black energy.

"Their deaths are on you, Savior," he said with a snarl, rearing back his free hand and moving to strike before an unseen force lifted him off his feet and him sprawling across the wharf.

Directly into the portal whirlpool.

Emma blinked as the man's defiant scream cut off abruptly as soon as he sank into the portal's depths. "Three point shot," she muttered.

She looked to the approaching Regina and flashed her a winning grin, but Regina was not looking toward Emma, but the air above her.

The ground shook with the rumbling promise of danger and Emma followed Regina's gaze to find Darling's oversized gem still hovering in the air where the man had held it, the black energy poking out of it in tendrils that waved around like growing tentacles.

The earthquake grew worse by the second and an animal instinct to _run_ nearly overcame Emma's conscious thought.

"Get Henry and get out of here!" Regina shouted, approaching the gem without hesitation and raised shaking hands to either side of the diamond, coils of purple energy arcing from her fingertips into the gem.

The earthquake stopped in the same breath that Regina's pallor grew alarmingly pale and sweat began to pour down her face as every muscle in her body began to tremble.

"Emma! GO!"

Just speaking seemed to drain Regina of precious energy, but Emma found herself rooted to the spot, the jittery panic of the unknown freezing her in place.

"You can't stop it, can you?"

Regina smiled, sad and strained. "This was all my fault," she said with a shaky certainty. "I can give you time, Emma. Get our son, get your family, and get _out_ of Storybrooke." When Emma didn't move, desperation bled into her voice. "Please, Emma. Let me just do this much good. Just once!"

Emma looked over her shoulder toward their son, finding Henry's eyes wide with fear as he stared at his mother beneath furrowed brows. His eyes flicked to meet Emma's for the briefest moment and saw reflected in his eyes the same need that filled Emma's belly.

She turned back and moved her stance to mirror Regina's in a heartbeat.

"What are you doing?!" Regina shouted, eyes wide. "The trigger can't be stopped, only slowed down!"

"Yeah, well, I kind of stopped believing in "can't" when the kid showed up at my door."

Her magic latched onto the trigger, yellow energy swirling together with purple and circling the black, and Emma felt everything.

If asked how to articulate it, Emma would not know how to put it to words, but she was simply _aware_ of the curse at Storybrooke's base. Bitter anger, loneliness, hatred, depression, and hints of desperate hope twisted throughout the magic running beneath the town, the lifeblood to Storybrooke's beating heart.

The trigger took every one of the emotions and intensified it, trying to pump the increased energy into the curse, and Emma could picture how quickly the delicate balance would be disrupted and Storybrooke would go up in a boom big enough that Emma had trouble fathoming it.

_Everything_ would be gone.

She gasped, trailed her eyes away from the trigger to meet Regina's, and was stunned as she was just as _aware_ of Regina in that moment as she was of the curse. Fear, annoyance, hurt, exhaustion, determination, hope, affection, and sheer stubbornness roiled off the former queen in a swirl of feeling that Emma wished she had the time to unravel.

The trigger pulsed, drawing their eyes back to the gem and Emma grimaced as she focused all of her will to containing the energy within. Her arms began to shake and she could feel the absolute tiredness racing in from the back of her mind as the magic within the gem fought and fought against them with everything it had.

Had she tried alone, Emma's instincts told her she would have failed, but her and Regina's magic worked in perfect sync, corralling the negative energy and compressing it more and more until it blinked out of life.

They had a moment to realize their success before the backlash from the abrupt lack of energy _imploded_ , dragging them both off their feet, sprawling forward on the ground.

The gem succumbed to gravity, clear as crystal, and shattered upon impact with the asphalt, blowing away as nothing more than dust.

"That should not have been possible," Regina said, breathless, turning her head to study Emma as if she didn't make any sense. "It was _designed_ to be impossible. Stronger than the curse itself."

Emma laughed, strained and tired and not entirely sure of everything she was feeling in that moment, but giddy nonetheless. "It's probably a bad thing that I'm getting used to impossible things being, well, _not_." She spared Regina a wry smile before doing her best to look over to where Henry had lain moments before.

He was gone and the fear she had hoped to never feel again bloomed anew when Neal shouted Henry's name in panic.

She forced herself to roll over to find Neal being bodily held back by Michael Darling, both blooded and bruised, as Tamara – blood streaming down her right arm – held Henry over her left shoulder and stumbled toward the closing portal with a victorious smirk on her dark features.

Emma forced her focus on reaching to steal Henry from the woman's grip, but no energy answered her call and she could hardly lift her arm off the ground.

Her heart turned to ice as she realized she had nothing left.

_No, no, no. Please!_ Frustrated tears pricked the back of her eyes and Emma could do little to stop them.

"If you ever loved me, you won't do this!" Neal shouted, elbowing Darling in the face and breaking free into a sprint with his opponent hot on his heels. "Tamara, please!"

The woman did not hesitate and leapt into the portal.

The fear in Henry's eyes as he stared back at them before he disappeared within the green torrent crushed Emma's soul.

Neal roared his defiance, diving in after them, followed swiftly by Michael Darling, who barely made into the vortex before it shrank out of existence, leaving a crater in its wake.

Emma's head sank back against the ground with a thud. She wanted to scream, but did not have enough energy left for even that.

A burst of crimson smoke tinged with black lightning drew her eyes to the corner of the pier where Gold had fallen to find the man standing, head restored with pink, raw skin, and a snarl locked on his features.

_How in the fuck?_

Good took one look around before his expression fell to fear.

"Belle!"

He sprinted over to Mary Margaret where she sat covered in blood, one hand keeping pressure on Belle's chest and the other helping David stem the flow of blood from a wound on his leg.

Emma blinked as another wave of fear joined the assault on her emotions. _When did he get hurt?_

Gold fell to his knees by Belle, swatted Mary Margaret's hand away, and dipped his hand into Belle's chest as if he was reaching for her heart. He pulled it back after a moment, empty, and his magic glowed from his hand to Belle's chest and Gold muttered to himself.

Beside Emma, Regina somehow managed to struggle to her feet and stalked toward the group, making it there just as Belle sat up with a gasp, her skin ghostly pale as her chest heaved in a moment of panicked awareness before her eyes flickered closed and she fell back, unconscious. Rumplestiltskin grinned, stood, and did not see Regina's punch before it struck him across the chin.

Both went sprawling to the ground.

"He's gone, Rumple," Regina said in a snarl even as Gold sprang up to his feet with eyes ablaze, promising retribution. "And that's on you."

The Dark One blinked, surveyed the area again, and set his mouth in a grim line.

He waved one hand in Emma's direction and she felt as if someone injected coffee straight into her veins as energy flowed back through her.

"What happened after I was… incapacitated?" He asked in a no nonsense tone, addressing Mary Margaret even as he moved to fix David's leg.

Emma grunted and hoisted herself to her feet, feeling no more generous toward the man than Regina.

"You've fucked us, Gold." She strode over to the group, a snarl of her own twisting her lips. "They took him through the portal and now we can't follow."

Gold did not acknowledge her, and Emma waited for him to finish stitching up her father before going full Vader on him with her gifted energy.

An invisible hand hoisted the Dark One from the ground by the throat, earning a shocked cry from both her parents as they looked to her with wide, fearful eyes.

"He's alone, Gold! With monsters that were willing to do _this,_ " she gestured to the destruction around them, "to get him across realms. And we still don't know _why_. So why exactly should I…"

Emma trailed off as she was struck by a sense of vertigo. She fell to one knee, and Gold fell from her invisible grasp, spluttering.

"Neal followed after him, Emma." David spoke as if she had not seen it herself, weary. "And he managed to save my life," he continued, waving at the freshly healed leg. "He'll keep Henry safe."

Emma's bluster wavered, but she did not voice her doubts.

"And do not think me a fool, Swan." Gold spoke in a raspy voice after getting his breathing under control. Emma was pleased to see his new skin marred by an angry bruise. "I am _never_ at a disadvantage."

He reached into a pocket and pulled out four more tiny jars, a magic bean glinting within each one.

Emma let out a breath and fell back onto her ass, a desperate hope in her heart.

He bent over, placed two of the jars in the pockets of Belle's jacket, took a moment to stroke her cheek, and stood back to his full height.

"We have little time to waste, then." He reared back a hand and tossed one of the jars into the crater. Emma felt the same sense of wrongness as a new portal bloomed within the hole. "If you wish to follow, keep your thoughts focused on Henry," he said with a pitiful glance to the four of them. "But do not get in my way."

He hopped into the portal, and was gone.

Regina was already back on her feet, offering Emma a hand the blonde gratefully took. They shared a look, then, and Emma could not put to words the unspoken _thing_ that passed between them in that moment, but they both focused ahead in the next as they stumbled toward the portal with Emma's parents following right behind.

_For Henry_ , Emma thought, and, without a plan and barely able to stand, none of them hesitated in jumping into the vortex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is, the season finale for A Gambit in Trust's take on season 2. Let me know what you thought, and what you'd hope to see moving forward into the Neverland arc. What I have outlined so far is a "yuuuuuge" contrast to canon, as the ripple effects from this version of events are approaching tidal wave levels, but I'm always interested in getting alternative perspectives.
> 
> Plus I love being on the other side of the fandom theories for a change, haha.
> 
> Anyway, I'm debating whether to mark this one complete and start the sequel as a fresh story, or just continue within this work. The PoV style is going to shift somewhat, as while most of the main cast is in Neverland, there is still plot to be had in Storybrooke (looking at you Belle, Ruby, Leroy, and co.). I'll be looking to do it more in the style of the Interlude chapters, where we'll see multiple folk's point of views in chapter, but with the caveat that we'll only focus on one setting at a time.
> 
> We'll see, still lots of planning to do.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it so far, and with any luck I'll see about getting the sequel going soon!


	21. Neverland I

**\---**

**Neal II**

\---

The humidity hit him like a vice around the throat.

Neal landed heavy on his back with a _squelch_ of displaced earth, gagging as he swallowed the heavy air. The stench of festering mud and musty rot filled his nostrils, urging his unsteady stomach to give up and retch out the cocktail of beer and prepackaged food he had subjected it to. He yanked his side free of the mud with enough force to roll over to avoid puking on himself.

The wonderful scent of vomit joined the attack on his nose and Neal heard the telltale of someone else losing their lunch as well.

His mostly sober mind struggled to a focus and he lurched to his feet with an unsteady balance of standing ankle deep in the same thick oatmeal of mud and decay that clung to the rest of his back. The towering trees, thick underbrush, sound of thousands of insects buzzing away, and the sight of the foreign sky told Neal exactly where he was.

It was all he could do to avoid getting sick again.

“How the hell did you get us in the fucking swamp, John!?” One of the men who had taken Henry yelled toward the other while using the leverage of his bodyweight to rip a hiking pack out of the muck. Tamara stood at his side, mud clinging through her hair and covering her face even as she poked at her nose and shoulder, almost in wonder.

The last man, John, stood steady between Neal and the other three, a shiny silver gun pointed at the former vagabond, freezing him in place.

“Accuracy was thrown off by the unexpected passenger,” the armed one said with a disappointed glance down at himself. His pristine suit was as covered in the crap as the rest of them. Neal would have smirked if not for the barrel of certain death pointed right at his face.

“What? Oh, fuck!” The first one shouted upon spotting Neal before searching around with panic in his eyes. Neal noted that he had lost both his sidearm and sniper rifle in transit.

“ _This_ is Home Office?” Tamara asked, doing everything in her power to avoid looking at Neal. He felt and oddly smug sense of satisfaction that acted as a brief balm to his heartbreak. “Where the hell are we?”

Neal couldn’t help himself. “Take my hand,” he said, singing the words out to a beat.

Out of habit from the dozens of drunken singalongs and karaoke nights or just plain out of pity, Tamara picked up the song, even as the two kidnappers and Henry looked at him incredulously.

Neal hid a wince, thinking how he _had_ to introduce the kid to good music if they got out of this.

“…off to never never land…” Tamara blinked and finally looked to Neal. “Neverland?” She rounded on her boss. “Home Office is in _Neverland_?”

Henry’s eyes lit up and he started looking around, excited despite the situation, and Neal had to envy his ability to take wonder in the world.

“Surprise,” John said, deadpan. “We almost good to go back there?”

Tamara pressed her thumb and middle finger against her temples, eyes screwed closed as if she had just gotten a sudden headache.

“Can’t find my damn guns,” the other man said, kicking at the muck like a dejected child. John closed his eyes and let out a long suffering sigh, but Neal could not take a step before the man’s attention focused back on him.

“Still have your reserve of pixie dust, Michael?”

“Yeah, but—”

The man – _Michael_ – kept talking but Neal tuned him out, realizing who these people were as memories great and sad flickered across his mind’s eye.

_A kindly couple, offering a place at their table to help a starving kid who would have just as quickly stolen the food as join them for a meal._

_A bright girl, inquisitive and naïve about the world at large but still ready to take it by storm._

_Two little boys who idolized their older sister and welcomed a strange boy into their hearts without question._

“—make do with it for now. Now, you—”

“ _John_ ,” Neal said, cutting the man off. He choked on the name, a feeling not dissimilar to when he realized Henry was his son pressing against his chest. What they had done left his mind, and for the briefest moment, Neal saw a child standing before him rather than a man. “It’s me. _Baelfire_.”

“You know them!?”

John ignored Tamara’s outburst, “I know who you are.” His finger slid from along the guard to over the trigger and Neal took an instinctive step back. “You left us, Bae. Left _her_.”

_Wendy_ , the name came easily to his mind with a time-corroded sense of sadness.

“She made her choice,” Neal said, shaking his head. “How do you… how are you two even alive? God, it’s been at least a century.”

“ _What!?”_

Tamara had apparently hit her limit, getting the pinched expression Neal had learned to recognize as _the_ sign to shelve their argument for a later time.

“I thought you just had to use magic as a means to an end.” She bowed her head, eyes darting back and forth as she put together clues Neal had no knowledge of. She backed toward the tree line, every one of her muscles tense. “But if you’re _that_ old you had to have been using magic for _decades_.” Her head snapped up, glaring at John and Michael in turn. “You’re no better than the rest of them!”

“Always the clever one,” Michael said with sarcastic flavored contempt.

Henry used the distraction to start edging away from the distracted adults, and Neal tried his best to not look in his kid’s direction to give him the edge on maybe getting away.

Tamara weaved her hands into mud-and-blood-soaked hair, eyes skyward but unseeing. “We were supposed to end it. Set the world right. Three years of my life. _Three!_ ” She whirled on Michael as he let out a bellow of a laugh. “What the hell was the point of all this if not to end magic!?”

Neal blinked, surprised that _that_ was her motivation.

He wondered if he would have even objected to it, a few weeks ago.

She turned her glare from Michael back to John and advanced on the man, eyes glinting with frustrated anger. “I thought it was a bluff, but would have let the Dark One kill me!”

John sighed and turned his shoulders to aim the gun at Tamara, stopping her cold. Anger bled from her eyes, replaced with fear.

“Yes,” he said, and Neal could _hear_ the smile in his voice.

Neal would like to have thought he took the opportunity for just the perfect opening it was rather than any lingering instinct to protect the woman, but his first thought was that John was attacking someone he loved and needed to be stopped.

He pushed the ill feeling the thought created to the back of his mind as he sprang toward the gunman, willing himself to sort out his screwed up emotions later as he caught John around the middle and pulled him back just as the man squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet flying safely to the sky with a deafening _bang_.

Neal spotted Henry staring at the pair with wide eyes as they fell, and managed to scream at him to run before John landed an elbow to Neal’s jaw and they both hit the mud hard.

The muck tasted worse than it smelled.

He spat a mouthful of gunk in his opponent’s eyes and grappled for the gun, but John was wirier than he looked as he managed to keep hold of the weapon as the rolled around each other, each trying to leverage an advantage. Neal’s muscles protested as the initial surge of adrenaline faded and the days’ worth of fighting caught up to him and made him sluggish.

Despite throwing around enough magic to rival the Dark One, John did not share his weariness and Neal found himself growing familiar with the force of the man’s palms striking the side of his face, sending the world to spinning.

The barrage stopped shy of Neal losing any teeth, but it took precious seconds before his brain could register anything other than blaring pain from his jaw. By the time he blinked back to focus, John stood over him, one lens of his glasses cracked and the other caked in mud but glaring at Neal with a crazed hate all the same.

He raised his earthen-covered gun and pulled the trigger in one smooth motion.

Neal’s breath caught as he flinched into the mud, but the gun did not so much as _click_.

John looked at the weapon in betrayal and Neal knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, swinging his leg up with as much force as he could muster from the ground to kick his would-be murderer straight in the nads.

He pitched forward without even screaming, which Neal found odd until the man fell on top of him, unconscious, and Neal spotted the shaft of a hand carved arrow sticking out of his back. The bright green, purple, and red feathers used as fletching gave away the attackers and Neal fought to draw a breath.

The swamp filled with the undulating battle cry that had been second nature to him so many years ago, but filled him with nothing but anxious fear.

The lost boys did _not_ suffer adults.

He heard their feet approaching, running and skipping through the muck, just as he pushed John far enough off of him to swallow a mouthful of the disgusting air.

“RUFIO!” He shouted at the top of his lungs, annunciating each syllable with a forceful breath. The war cries and charging steps came to an abrupt end save for one pair approaching from behind.

A teenager – older than Pan’s typical followers – entered Neal’s field of vision. Thin features and acne-scarred skin exaggerated his scowl and Neal could see the contempt in his dark eyes despite the limp dirty blonde hair hanging in his face.

“Rufio doesn’t live here anymore,” the boy said in a quiet, measured voice that set Neal’s hackles on edge. He moved to speak, but the boy raised a boot and smashed him in the face, and Neal knew nothing but black.

**\---**

**Henry IV**

**\---**

Henry tried to run, but the undergrowth was as tall as his waist and so thick in places it may as well have been a solid wall. So he shuffled his way to freedom as fast as he could, ignoring the guilt in his belly by repeating his dad’s desperate shout for him to run over and over in his head. He stumbled over branches, skinned his elbows on trees and rocks, and found that trying to keep your balance with your hands tied _really_ sucked.

“Henry!”

Being chased at the same time sucked more.

“You won’t last out here on your own, kid!”

Henry felt a flash of anger at the woman’s use of the familiar term. She had betrayed his dad, gotten him kidnapped, his mom tortured, him kidnapped _again_ , and brought him through a portal to Neverland (which might have actually gotten her brownie points), and expected him to _listen_ to her?

She was out of her mind.

“They won’t stop chasing you, you know that!”

Henry chanced a glance over his shoulder, and only registered that the woman was able to make easier progress through the undergrowth than he was before his foot caught on a root and he sprawled forward, slamming into a prickly plant face first.

He hissed a curse, and couldn’t regain his feet before Tamara closed the distance between them, standing over him with her hands held out in a placating manner.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said, tossing a look over her shoulder and swallowing thickly.

“Just like the last five times?” Henry asked, channeling his mother’s sarcasm as he scooted back. The plant tugged at his clothes, trapping him.

Tamara grimaced and clicked her tongue. “That was before,” she said. “Now I have no idea what those bastards are after, and only know they need _you._ ” She bent down and yanked Henry up to his feet by his bound wrists. “So I’m not letting you out of my sight, and we’re both going to get out of here, okay?”

Henry kept glaring at her, _urging_ himself to come up with a plan to get away.

“I’m not leaving without my dad,” Henry said to buy time. Tamara’s breath hitched, surprising him before she spoke.

“We have no idea if he’s still alive.” She looked back toward the direction they came from, toying with her bottom lip. “I know it’s hard Henry, but we have to think of ourselves now.”

Henry fought the urge to kick the woman in the shins and take his chances running away again.

“We go back for him,” he said, trying to imitate Emma’s commanding tone. “Or I’m not going anywhere.”

Different emotions flickered through Tamara’s eyes as he looked at him incredulously, but Henry could only catch anger and frustration. He jutted out his chin, not caring and not willing to keep being dragged everywhere.

“Gotta admire the kid’s spirit.”

Henry flinched at the voice of Michael Darling as the man skid to a stop a few feet behind Tamara. The more unhinged Darling brother held his mud-covered gun aimed square between Tamara’s shoulders.

In a flash his father’s ex-fiancé dove past Henry and grabbed him from behind, an arm circling around his neck just hard enough to make breathing difficult.

Henry growled and flailed with all his bodyweight, doing everything in his power to squirm free and striking paydirt as the back of his head clobbered Tamara in the nose. Her grip slacked enough for him to slip beneath her arm and charge.

Right at Michael.

“Are you fucking kidding…?”

Frustrated and annoyed, Henry was willing to bet that Tamara was right when she said the Darlings needed him alive for some reason. His assumption was proven correct when Michael only dodged the attack instead of shooting him.

“You’ve got balls, kid, but—”

Henry interrupted him with a yell and charged the man again, but Michael answered by spinning out of the way and planting a boot to the small of Henry’s back. He sprawled forward, tasting dirt as his back flared in pain.

“Try that again,” Michael said in a deathly calm voice as Henry rolled onto his knees. The man aimed his gun at Henry’s head, still as a windless day.

Henry doubled down on his gambit and lunged himself to his feet and ran toward the man again, but he hadn’t made it two steps before Michael raised the weapon and fired, the echoing _boom_ of the shot bringing Henry to a stop as his ears rang with deafening pain.

Something _thumped_ behind him and Henry turned his attention away from a grinning Michael, looking behind him to see the sightless eyes of Tamara staring right at him. A line of blood trailed down from a small dark circle right between her eyes, but the grass behind her was awash with crimson and _chunky_ blobs of bone and brain.

Henry looked away, hurling the meager contents of his stomach into the ground even as he wanted to scream in horror.

“I’d say that was your fault,” Michael said as Henry’s throat burned with bile. “But honestly, I wanted to kill her the moment we got you secure.”

_This is what evil is,_ Henry thought with a shudder as his chest heaved.

A hand gripped the back of Henry’s shirt, and the boy found that all fight had left him as Michael hoisted him onto his shoulder. He stared at Tamara’s body in silent horror as Michael hiked back from where they came, only blinking when the thick forest hid her from view.

“Why…?” He managed to ask, voice gone raspy.

Henry’s body bounced as Michael shrugged.

“Easier than trying to get her to see,” was the man’s only explanation, tone light. “The dead don’t screw up your plans.”

Henry hung his head, breathing ragged as he found he needed to fight the urge to cry, and spotted a knife sheathed on the back of his captor’s belt.

Henry held his breath as the idea came to him, unbidden.

Could he do it? Take the knife and free himself? The image played out in his mind.

It would only take a second. He couldn’t hesitate.

His stomach turned again, but it had nothing left to give.

Trembling hands stretched toward the weapon, tears burning at the back of Henry’s eyes at the thought of doing what he was going to do. He was _tired_ of being used by everyone, and he was sure Emma and his mom would do the same.

The tips of his fingers gripped around the acrylic handle as Michael muttered something about him keeping still and tightening his hold on Henry’s legs. He yanked the blade free, but underestimated how easily it would slide from its sheath. Most of his momentum bled into a swinging arc of the blade that sliced along Michael’s back from on him to the opposite shoulder.

The man screamed and dropped to his knees as the knife dug through clothes and skin as easy as cutting air. Henry rolled off his shoulder and took off in another shambling run toward a new direction, angling the knife to cut off the ropes on his wrist and _not_ looking at the red glinting off the grey and black steel.

He couldn’t hear footsteps behind him, but that did not stop Henry from pushing every ounce of energy toward getting _away_ from it all, going so far as to use the knife as a tiny machete to help clear his path. He kept his mind looking forward, trying to think of everything he knew about this realm from both the bits and pieces he’d heard from his dad and Mr. Gold, and from the Earth’s children stories.

Neither of which prepared him as his entire body was lurched up, defying gravity as he flew straight up in the air in a flailing tangle of limbs and cloth. When his stomach found its way back to its proper place, Henry found himself a dozen feet off the ground, a net woven out of braids of small branches trapping his limbs against his sides.

“Are you serious!?” He cried out to the world, almost hysterical.

He could barely move the hand with the knife he had _somehow_ managed to hold onto, but was able to get its sharp edge against the net and start cutting.

The netting proved tougher than anything else Henry had cut with the knife as minutes trickled by and he made no progress.

“How many times do I have to prove it to you lot!?”

Henry stiffened at the new voice, arcing his neck back to see below him. A woman stood beneath the net, arms crossed beneath her breasts and a glare locked on Henry’s form.

“No lost boys allowed in my part of the island! What do you have to say for yourself, hm?” She demanded, and he thought it odd how she could have an accent similar to Belle’s. She quirked an eyebrow as he raised silent, a wordless demand.

He only knew of two women in the Neverland stories, and the woman below him was not a redhead.

“Tinkerbell?” He asked, almost in wonder, forgetting about the horrors of the past few hours. The woman cocked her head to the side, her wavy, dirty-blonde hair she kept piled on her head falling to one side.

“Yes…” she said as if he was slow. “Are you going to pretend to be surprised? _Every_ lost boy knows the deal I struck with Pan.”

“I’m not a lost boy,” he said with as much of a shrug as he could manage.

Tinkerbell scoffed. “I’ll give you credit,” she said with a pretty smile that was more exasperation than amusement. “No one’s been dumb enough to try that one on me before.”

Henry narrowed his eyes in irritation, but Michael Darling chose that moment to creep through the underbrush with a snarl, weapon raised and poised to fire upon the mythical fairy. Henry’s heart turned to ice as the tumultuous emotions wrought by the horrors of the afternoon slammed back to the front of his mind.

The man fired before Henry could think to shout a warning.

Tinkerbell snapped her hand up the moment Michael had made a noise and the bullet ricocheted off a spark of green energy, flying off into the forest.

Michael gaped at her and Tinkerbell looked him up and down as if he were a particularly annoying puzzle.

“How did you get here?” She asked, dropping her arm. Instead of answering, Michael tried his weapon again and fired four shots in rapid succession.

They each proved as harmless as the first.

Tinkerbell waved an irritated hand and the netting around Henry disappeared only to reappear around Michael as an invisible force lowered the preteen to the ground slow enough to stop from breaking _everything_.

Michael fought the restraints with a constant stream of curses, but his gun was magic’d out of his hand and Tinkerbell yanked his feet out from beneath him with the same careless wave of her hand, sending him sprawling to the dirt.

The Darling brother’s stopped fighting when his head clunked against the ground and Henry sank to the ground as well, indescribable relief flowing through him.

Tinkerbell rounded on Henry, her eyes wide and glowing with an intensity that put Henry right back on edge. “If you aren’t a lost boy,” she said, advancing on him. “Then you’re going to help me get out of this hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have the setting of the initial status quo of my Neverland arc. We are made aware of two power players on the island outside of Pan - Felix and Tinkerbell - and Neal confirms that yes, Rufio will have a role in this story. Said role will be revealed as time goes on :)
> 
> So Tamara is dead. I toyed with the idea of having her carrying on for some time, eventually redeeming herself somewhat before dying on later in the arc, but there was no reason for the more tempermental Darling brother to spare her, and the role I would have had her play is better off split between some of the other characters in Neverland. Her arc, such as it was, is an illustration on how not to let sheer hate for something (magic) guide your actions and make you blind to the true threats around you.
> 
> That said, Greg-slash-Owen is still alive in Storybrooke, and may yet have a role when we return there in the coming chapters.
> 
> If you're wondering where Emma and co. are during this chapter, that too will be revealed soon.
> 
> Good? Bad? Indifferent? Please let me know what you thought in a review!


End file.
